


Hyacinth House

by e_p_hart



Category: Original Work
Genre: Asexual Character, Bisexual Character, Family Drama, Family Issues, Fantasy, Gay Male Character, Gen, Gross misconceptions, Horror, In-Laws, Librarians get shit done, Lovecraftian, M/M, Modern Horror, Mormons, NaNoWriMo, Selkies, Small Towns, Trans Male Character, doesn't have anything to do with the Doors song, maine, mostly unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 49,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5572825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_p_hart/pseuds/e_p_hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jacqueline's husband dies, she can no longer put up with his family's incessant nagging. She leaves Tempe and moves to Maine to run an old B&B she dubs the Hyacinth House. But the picturesque town of Port Gilbert isn't as idyllic as it seems: there are too many missing children and not enough people asking questions. She makes friends and enemies alike as she investigates, uncovering a foul town tradition that eventually demands she play a part...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 2015 Nano novel. At first I was like, "This is awful, I will never let this see the light of day EVER" but then I reread it, and while there are some issues, it's not too bad. Parts are funny and some of it even makes sense. That said, there are a few disclaimers: 
> 
> 1\. This is mostly unedited. I went through and picked out a few things, but the random plot holes? Yeah, I know they're there. (Like...the Sheriff doesn't remember he has keys until later because *I* forgot he could have keys. And the random prophetic dream doesn't really make too much sense. Whatever.)
> 
> 2\. I really have nothing against Mormons. Really. Someone of the most beautiful and nicest people I know are Mormons. But mother's-in-law can be terrible, and hey, I needed a villain. The bitterness is based on an ex-Mormon friend. (Also, missionary school...isn't that long. Oh, well!)
> 
> 3\. I had a whole bunch of these planned out last night, but now I forgot. Eh. Maybe something about symbolism and overarching themes? They're actually there! I was pleasantly surprised. Good job, brain. 
> 
> 4\. Oh, yeah, I don't speak Spanish, but my MC does. Yay me? So. There's probably less Spanish in here than I actually speak, growing up in the South, Because Nanowrimo and Lazy. 
> 
> Anything too offensive, please let me know. Any too terrible mistakes, let me know. On the whole, this isn't my best work, but. Whatever.
> 
> PS: I did take out a few things, which is why this isn't 50,000. But it was, once. I promise. You wouldn't want to read those few words, anyway.

 

If one more person tried to offer Jacqueline their condolences on Robert’s death, she swore she would not be held responsible for her actions.

 

It wasn't that they didn't mean well-- she knew that they did. But they were not content to simple say, “Sorry to hear about Robert,” no; they had to add little comments. “Sorry to hear about Robert, Jacqueline; it is too bad you two never started a baby...” Or, “How are you holding up, dear? Just remember that you are young, and you can always try again! Why, you can always name a son after Robert. Keep him alive in your life.” Or even, “It is really too bad Robert left before you got pregnant.”

 

That last was Jacqueline’s mother-in-law, Martha, who was the queen of Guilt-Trips and Ignoring the Obvious. She had raised seven children, and all of them (except for Robert) had given her at least one grandchild. It was difficult to tell what Martha Kimball was more upset over: that she had lost her son, or that she had lost the chance to dote on more babies that looked like Robert.

 

Robert had been an extremely beautiful man. Their entire family was gorgeous, in fact. Beautiful golden hair and bright blue eyes, perfect skin; they could all have been models. Robert especially, with serious cheekbones and Cupid-bow lips. And they were all talented besides-- the nine original Kimballs regaled family gatherings with complicated arrangements of hymns and songs, and Robert Sr. always improvised the piano or harp accompaniments. Robert Jr. had played too, and it had been a family scandal that he had majored in theater in undergrad and not music or religion.

 

That was where Jacqueline had met him-- at college. Robert was born and raised in Tempe, Arizona, and there had been no question that he would attend college there, even if there was some resistance as far as majors went. Jacqueline chose ASU because it was nearly the opposite of Seattle: dry and warm instead of wet, chilly, and dark brown. It was also flat, something comforting about that wide expanse where you could see everything coming, punctuated by the long shadow of A mountain, sleepy and solid. Seattle was nice, but Jacqueline had loved her visit to Tempe, senior year of high school.

 

It also helped that she received a really nice scholarship for her essay on her Papi’s side of the family, who had fled Spain during Franco’s reign; as part of her junior Spanish project, Jacqueline had traced the Garcia family from Toledo, where they had lived for many, many generations, to Mexico City, to California, and finally to Seattle, where most of them lived currently. She’d found some old journals in her Abuela’s house, and the archives in Toledo were very helpful, especially considering that their family name was the most common in Spain. Her essay was a solid fifty pages of interesting anecdotes, quotes from letters and journals, and a surprising amount of pictures. Their ancestral home in Toledo had long since been torn down and rebuilt into a china shop, but there were pictures of her great-grandparents in front of their church, holding the newly baptized baby that would become Jacqueline’s Abuelo. It had taken all year, and she had sent the finished manuscript (bound nicely in red cotton, handmade cover and bindings) off to her six choices for college with a lot of pride.

 

She ended up getting offers from three schools: one in San Diego, one in Seattle, and Arizona State. She ruled out Washington State almost immediately: she wanted an adventure for college, not to be able to have her Mami stop by and interrupt her studying! Her visit to San Diego was a disaster: the professor she had come to see had forgotten she was coming, and had actually left the country, so she spent the entire trip listening to the professor’s TA complain about the professor’s habits. After hearing all about Dr. Gomez’s rude demands for coffee and for his assistants to read his mind, Jacqueline was in no rush to join _that_ mess. So she went to Tempe, not quite desperate, but not exactly calm either. But it turned out she need not have worried: Tempe in February was beautiful, and warm (but not too warm), and it was a calm, well-planned visit, and Dr. Palmero raved about how much she had enjoyed reading Jacqueline’s essay, and how much she was hoping that Jacqueline would join her in the fall.

 

The full-ride on top of that sealed the deal, and off she went to Tempe that August.

 

She had been warned, and had expected, that Arizona in August would be quite different from Arizona in February, but it still shocked her a bit when she stepped out from the sliding doors at the airport in Phoenix into the oven desert. Dr. Palmero helped her sling her bags into her truck, and drove her to the dorm herself, where they met Jacqueline’s roommate (Laurell May, art major, Tempe native), made Jacqueline’s bed, and then to Dr. Palmero’s house near the edge of town, where she was having a get-together for the new History majors (Latin American emphasis). Dr. Palmero’s husband grilled hamburgers out back while the new students cooled off in the pool as the sun set orange and brilliant red in the sky above.

 

Most of the students were like Ryan and Katie, who had no idea what they wanted to do after they graduated; but Jacqueline always knew, and she was quick to inform them: “I will get my master’s degree in library science and join one of the big archive libraries, either in Mexico, Spain, or the United States.” In fact, she wanted most of all the get a job at the Library of Congress, and start up an exhibition exchange with the Smithsonian, but they didn’t care about such detail, and besides, the important people (like Dr. Palmero) already knew. Most of the others were just in it because they thought history was interesting and they liked Spanish; most of them were from the south, so they had been exposed to Spanish all their lives, even if they didn’t already speak it fluently. Jacqueline and the others who _did_ speak it fluently would have to choose a different secondary language, Dr. Palmero announced to general annoyance.

 

“Of course, I can’t _force_ you,” she added, sitting in a chair beside the pool, little white dog in her lap. “But as my advisees, I _strongly advise_ you to challenge yourselves. We offer plenty of other languages: Russian, Italian, French, Japanese, Chinese--”

 

“Spanish,” Jane muttered.

 

Dr. Palmero laughed. “You can take Spanish, Jane. I’m really talking about those smartie-pants who are already good. I can see if we can get Portuguese, what do you think, Charlie?”

 

Her husband, quiet and patient computer programmer professor, shrugged. “Online exchange, maybe.”

 

Jacqueline, just to ornery, had ended up taking Italian. Which was how she ended up meeting Robert, in a round about sort of way.

 

They really met at trivia night.

 

Jacqueline had learned that the local Mellow Mushroom did a trivia night every Tuesday at 7, and she had pounced at the opportunity. She dragged Austin and Dianne, two of her new friends from her Freshman History seminar, and Laurell, who had been sitting innocently in their dorm room, drawing. They would, Jacqueline declared, call themselves something hilarious and totally win everything: they ended up naming their team “And in the lead by one point,” and they actually did end up winning by one point. Robert had been on the team that almost beat them, “The Hercules Mulligans.” They dragged their tables together when Jacqueline hailed the girl from her Italian class, and shared in “And in the lead by one point’s” winnings ($50 gift card, spent entirely on beer that Johnny, senior theater major and therefore of age, got for them.)

 

Robert was so obviously good-looking-- and equally as obviously completely gay. He dressed much too well, for one thing; and then there was the fact that he kissed Johnny good night outside the restaurant before he and Jacqueline went walking arm in arm back towards the dorms. He had pounced on her right away as a kindred spirit, and they went back to his dorm room (his roommate was studying in Australia that semester) and watched American Horror Story (season three, their mutual favorite) until much too late for their 8 am classes the following morning.

 

Jacqueline could not say she was not disappointed that Robert was gay, because he was really an incredibly handsome guy, and he knew all the right things to say, and he really hit all her romance buttons; but well, that was life. She didn’t really want a boyfriend anyway: she didn’t feel like she was the kind of girl that guys dated, and emotions, and romance, and sex, and all that messy stuff she wanted no part in-- ugh. No, thank you. She could hang out with Robert, admire how much she loved his face, and it would all be fine. It worked for Robert too, who came back from Fall Break to confess that he kind of sort of may have told his family that they were dating just to get them off his back.

 

“But you’re dating Johnny,” Jacqueline said stupidly over a pint of coconut ice cream (did she mention that he was lactose intolerant and she was vegan? it really was a perfect relationship EXCEPT FOR THE FACT THAT THEY WEREN’T DATING).

 

“Well, yeah, but they would go ape-shit if they found out, and you don’t want to date anyone anyway, so-- it’s perfect. Isn’t it?”

 

“Why doesn’t your family know? Have they even _met_ you?”

 

“Shut up. I told you they’re Mormon. And my mom’s off in oblivious land. They would totally disown me if I tried to come out. They already hate me a little bit because I’m doing theater instead of music, remember.”

 

“Yeah, you’re _doing theater,_ all right.”

 

He jostled her with an elbow. “Please, Jackie? _Pleeeeease_?”

 

Jacqueline took the time to shovel another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth before she pulled the spoon out decisively and said, “Fine. But you have to fend off the straight frat boys from me when you take me out.”

 

The entire Kimball clan showed up for the fall play, _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , in which Robert played mischievous Puck to Johnny’s imperious King Oberon; and they all wanted to meet Jacqueline after, from the oldest Kimball grand kids (nine year old twins Jake and Jana) to little baby Elmer Smith, born just two months prior. Faced with an army of Kimballs, Jacqueline would have turn and run if Robert hadn’t shown up that exact moment to diffuse things. His brothers and sisters and parents swarmed him, and Jacqueline found herself surrounded by eerily beautiful children holding a sleeping infant.

 

“So you’re Uncle Bobby’s girlfriend,” one of the older kids (Jake? Bruce?) said seriously. “He hasn’t said much about you. Are you going to get married?”

 

“I just met him,” Jacqueline said, equally serious. “I couldn’t say.”

 

“You speak Spanish?” That was 5 year old Jarden-- right? “You don’t _look_ Spanish. You have blonde hair like we do!”

 

“Okay, we’ll meet you all back at the house,” Robert said, swooping back in to rescue Jacqueline. “I’m going to take my makeup off.”

 

“I thought Uncle Bobby would _never_ get a girlfriend,” Jacqueline heard Taylor, Robert’s closest brother, said to his wife, Zinna.

 

“That was weirder than I thought it would be,” Jacqueline said, leaning against the wall while Robert attacked his face with makeup-remover wipes. “Does the whole family know everyone’s business? The kids seemed awfully aware. When I was nine, I didn’t even know which way was up, let alone that my Uncle ‘needed’ to be dating someone.” She made finger-quotes around the word “needed.” “No offense, but what is your mom’s problem?”

 

“She takes her patriarchal blessing a little too seriously,” Robert said with a sigh.

 

“Um. What?”

 

“It’s this weird Mormon thing that everyone gets when they’re teenagers. We have to fast beforehand and then some church elder comes by and tells us what our entire life is going be. They’re supposed to be this big secret thing, but everyone gets pretty much the same one: you’re going to go on a mission, serve god, meet your wife or husband, have lots of kids that will grow up to be good little Mormons, all that jazz. My mom’s said that she should have lots of kids who would in turn have lots of kids so that the Kimball’s could cover the earth and save the world through the power of Moroni, or some shit. I’m guessing here. She never told us what it exactly said, but she’s always had a hard-on about having kids and grand kids.” He sighed again and threw down his last wet-wipe, face clean now. “Let me give you the run-down on who’s-who.”

 

It was lucky that Jacqueline had experience with family lines, because holy shit. There were Martha and Robert Senior, who had seven kids: Holden, Spender, Robin, Martha, Taylor, Caprice, and Robert. They were all married, of course, except for Robert, the youngest still. Holden had married Adris and they had the twins, Jake and Jana, who were the oldest grand kids at 9. Spencer had married Lucy and they had Sariah, 8, and Helena, who was 6. Robin was a Throckmorton now, married to David Throckmorton, and they had three sons, Bruce, Tim, and Clark, who were 8, 7, and 5 respectively. (David was a closet, or not so closet, comics fan, obviously.) Then Martha had married Sam Shumway, and they had Jarden, who was 5. Taylor was married to Zinna, and they had one daughter, Emma, who just turned 3. Lastly, Caprice was now Mrs. Lawrence Smith as of 10 months ago, and they had little two-month old Baby Elmer, whom Jacqueline had had shoved into her arms.

 

“Wow. That’s a lot,” Jacqueline commented.

 

“You have _no idea,_ ” Robert moaned as they turned down the street toward the Kimball house.

 

To make matters worse, every sibling had married Mormons, with all the pomp about the Temple that required. Jacqueline wanted to turn tail and run, but Robert had driven her, and the buses stopped running half an hour before. Faced with the reality, her agreement with Robert suddenly seemed too much.

 

Robert took her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, Jacqueline,” he said. “I really, really appreciate this. As soon as I can, I’ll tell them we broke up. It’s only another two and a half years of school, and then I can escape.”

 

It really was tragic: Robert couldn’t do his own thing without losing his Mormon scholarship, and he, despite everything, loved his family. He just wished they weren’t quite so--

 

“Fine.” Jacqueline sucked in a breath. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

 

It wasn’t as bad as Jacqueline had dreaded: it was worse. Between the kids demanding she prove that she could actually speak Spanish (“You have blonde hair, you can’t be that Mexican!”) and the mother grilling her on every last point of her life before turning away in disgust because her boy was dating a non-Mormon. Martha Kimball was polite about it, and did it in such a way that Jacqueline felt that if she made a fuss for being offended, it would just make everything ten times more awkward. In the back of her head, Jacqueline admired Mrs. Kimball’s technique.

 

And then they started to sing, some hymn that Jacqueline had never heard before: “Abide with me, ‘tis eventide.” Robert was a baritone, of course, and his father played the piano to accompany them, and it was glorious. It really wasn’t fair.

 

When they finished (“Abide with me; tis eventide. The day is past and gone; the shadows of the evening fall; the night is coming on. Within my heart a welcome guest, within my home abide. O, savior, stay this night with me. Behold: tis eventide.”) Robert begged off, claiming he was tired, and that he had to get up the next day for an early cast call.

 

They walked hand in hand back to the car.

 

“Shit,” Jacqueline said, “I think I love you.”

 

“Sweetie,” Robert began, but Jacqueline went on: “No, I’m not _in love_ with you, I mean that I love you. Don’t flatter yourself.”

 

“Oh, good,” Robert said. “I mean, that’s good, because I love you too.”

 

If only life were always that simple. Their friendship was easy: she didn’t want to fuck him (or anyone) and he didn’t want to fuck her, so they could just be friends, and it was beautiful. She covered for him when he stayed over at Johnny’s, and helped him with the inevitable heart break when Johnny dumped Robert just before graduation; he was her excuse when the frat-bros in her combined classes tried to come onto her, and he was the sweetest friend ever. He put up with her nagging that he drank too much, and wrote her a beautiful little song for her birthday in April. He called her between classes “just because”, and she helped him with his Spanish homework.

 

When sophomore year (for Jacqueline) and junior year (for Robert) rolled around, they obviously wanted to live together, but Robert said his parents would never agree, so they ended up getting two, two-bedroom apartments with Laurell and Jack, Robert’s roommate back from Australia, and they could be next-door neighbors at least. Most of the time, they all lived in Laurell and Jacqueline’s apartment anyway, because they kept it cleaner and Dr. Palmero had donated an old, non-bed-buggy couch to them when she discovered Jacqueline wanted to live off-campus.

 

But that was May, and Jacqueline had to go back to Seattle for a visit; so she took Robert, who loved the city. They stayed with Jacqueline’s parents, and her Papi came into her room the first day to ask if they were really dating.

 

“Sure,” Jacqueline said, feeling bad about lying to her Papi.

 

“It’s only-- and please, don’t think I’m being insulting on purpose-- he seems really incredibly, um, _gay_.”

 

Jacqueline had to laugh and laugh and _laugh_. Her own family realized what Robert’s could not, two hours after meeting him.

 

“Is this-- oh my god, _Jackie_ \-- is this going to be like that movie? Easy A’?!”

 

“Papi, no, I just--”

 

“Because I am ten times more handsome than that Stanley what’s-his-face, and--”

 

Seriously, her family were such dorks. “Papi! Sort of, but not really!” So she had to explain the whole deal: how they were only “dating” because Robert’s family was a little crazy, and they were gong to “break up” soon she promised.

 

“I just don’t want to see you missing out because some guy thinks you’re dating someone already,” Papi said.

 

And-- that was the moment, it really was, to tell him how she really felt, how she didn’t _want_ a relationship like that, how the thought of having sex with anyone seemed a little strange and gross and Not For Her, and how she didn’t want children, not the natural way, anyway; and a hundred other things. But he gave her a hug and went back downstairs before she could gather her words, and well, her secret was still safe. Robert wasn’t out to _his_ family, and she supposed she could live without being out (was there a word for what she was? how she felt?) to her own family.

 

So she put it out of her mind and took Robert to all her favorite haunts: the market, the tower in the park below the university, her favorite coffee-shop down by the Space Needle (he wanted to go up the elevator, but the lines were waaay too long, and besides, it was such a tourist thing-- “I _am_ a tourist, Jackie!”), the fountain by the music museum...

 

Robert loved it, and he didn’t even mind that it rained most of the time. “I’d never been anywhere,” he told her on the plane ride back to Arizona. “My parents never took us anywhere, telling us we’d have plenty of world to explore when we went on missions.”

 

And then they started school once more, and had adventures, and Robert found a new boyfriend, and the Kimball grandchildren kept asking Jacqueline why she didn’t want to be Mormon, and really, their whole family (Martha Kimball included) just grew on her, and she fell more in love about Robert, and Robert started planning for his after-college audition road trip.

 

But somehow Martha Kimball found out about that, and three weeks into his senior year (and Jacqueline was a mere junior), they had a knock-down, drag out fight. Or, rather, Robert screamed and raged while his parents were calm and reasonable, and Jacqueline wanted to punch them in the face for making Robert feel like he was asking too much for them to accept him for who he was. They reasonably and calmly explained that he could not take any audition trips until he went to missionary school and then on a mission for two years; after that, they said, he could do as he wished.

 

“Don’t _listen_ to them,” Jacqueline said, while Robert sobbed into her shoulder, after the fight, drunk on half a bottle of cheap tequila. “You won’t need them any more after you graduate. You were going to be on Broadway!”

 

“I don’t want them to hate me,” Robert moaned brokenly. “I hate them for making me do this, but I don’t want them to hate me in return.”

 

“You’ve done so fucking much for your family, and they’ve done fuck-all in return. They don’t love you, they love some weird facade you’ve made up to keep them from seeing the real you, Robert. And as long as you keep it up, they’ll just keep going along with it too.”

 

“Yeah?” he croaked. “And how well did your own coming out go?”

 

Jacqueline felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. She discovered, upon a visit to the Straight-Gay Alliance with Robert, that there was something called asexuality, and suddenly everything fit. She might still consider herself weird and strange, but now she had a label. She still, however, hadn’t told her parents.

 

“Yeah, well,” Jacqueline said, when she could speak without too much anger, “I’m great at giving advice, and not so great at taking it. That’s why we get along so well.”

 

But how they got from there to getting married, Jacqueline still doesn’t understand. She should never have gone along with it; she wasn’t even Mormon, for heaven’s sake! But that was exactly the point: Martha Kimball wanted Robert to marry a nice Mormon girl before he went on his mission, and start a family, and then when he came back, he’d be stuck. Oh, Jacqueline and Robert saw right through that little scheme clearly.

 

So when Robert popped the question one night during finals week, it wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it made Jacqueline feel like she had the worst heart-burn in the world, and she panicked. She ran away to the library and holed herself up in a study room in the basement, and didn’t return back to her apartment she shared with Laurell (and Jack, and Robert) until after her last final, and she’d missed Robert’s senior showcase. She brought a bouquet of flowers, ready to apologize profusely, and found Robert missing.

 

He was in the hospital.

 

She was going to lord this over him when she saw him, she swore as she raced to the hospital. He was recovered but in the Psych ward, where he’d been put after they pumped his stomach from all the fucking sleeping pills he’d taken to try to kill himself the night after his showcase. He wasn’t cuffed to the sides of the bed, but she had to beg and beg and beg for them to finally let her in, because she wasn’t family.

 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” she snarled down at him. He didn’t deny it, only looked at the ground. Jacqueline sighed, and relented a little bit: “Look at your life, look at your choices.” He didn’t even crack a smile, so Jacqueline hooked a foot around the chair sitting nearby and dragged it closer, so she could sit and take his hand. “I’m sorry I missed your showcase. What-- what happened?”

 

“You left,” Robert said. He shrugged. “I lost hope, I guess. I didn’t see a way out of this mess.”

 

“You’re a stupid bitch,” Jacqueline said. “I was coming back. You just startled me. Then, _and_ now. Seriously? What a cry for help, you asshole.”

 

“I know. I’m sorry.” He sniffled. “You wouldn’t want to be saddled with such a sad sack of shit anyway.”

 

“Okay, I don’t deserve that kind of manipulation. I was coming back to apologize for leaving you, and to give you my answer.” He looked up at her, eyes wet and hopeful. Jacqueline sighed and tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You attend one year of missionary school, right? Then you go on a mission for two years?” He nodded. “ _Fuck_ , I am _so_ going to regret this, but fine. I’ll marry you. For three years, you hear? Just until you come back from your mission trip. Ohhh, come on, don’t cry.”

 

“I don’t deserve you,” Robert sobbed. “Thank you.”

 

So just like that she was engaged to be married. To her gay best friend. Who was also a Mormon. What even was her life, ugh.

 

Of course, just because she had consented to marry her son didn’t mean Martha Kimball magically loved Jacqueline; oh, no, instead the little sighs and hints about Jacqueline converting to Mormonism became ten time worse. Jacqueline ignored her future mother-in-law, too worried about what her own family was thinking. They had been very silent when Jacqueline had called to tell them the good news, and when she prodded them, they were very happy for her, but they said it in such funereal tones. They were confused, Jacqueline’s younger sister Isabelle reported.

 

“They just want what’s best for you, Jac. I mean, we know he’s gay, that’s not exactly a perfect marriage waiting to happen, is it?”

 

“And why not? We love each other,” Jacqueline said, stung. “And it’s only to help him out for a while. Plus, think of the tax benefits!”

 

“Oh, okay, _sure.”_ Jacqueline could _hear_ Isabelle rolling her eyes through the phone. “When’s it going to be?”

 

“Late July. Can you take off from work? I told the Kimball sisters you had to be my maid of honor. They were really mad.”

 

Isabelle worked summers as a soccer ref. “Yeah, no problem. And thanks for asking me, I guess? I’ll have to buy an expensive dress, won’t I?”

 

“I’ll work something out with Mami and Papi, don’t worry.”

 

Robert and Jacqueline, since they couldn’t get married in the local Temple, planned to do a brunch wedding at the Tempe Historical Museum. Robert had wanted the Botanical Gardens, but an outdoor wedding in Arizona, in July? No way. And then they chose to keep it simple with just a waffle bar and an oatmeal station (and an omelet station, though Jacqueline didn’t care much for that) at the reception there at the Museum. Jacqueline found a beautiful white lace dress with blue flower embroidery on Modcloth to wear, along with a very pretty teal dress for Isabelle to wear that she couldn’t complain was ugly. They were going for blue, white, and gold as their colors, and Robert planned on wearing just navy dress pants, white shirt, blue suspenders, and a gold tie, with marigolds as their flowers. Since Jacqueline chose only one bridesmaid, he begged and fought and finally chose just his older brother Taylor to be his Best Man.

 

Then it was June and the Kimball sisters were throwing Jacqueline a bridal shower and getting her things like lacy underwear and dishes for their new home (or apartment) and Laurell and Jack were hesitantly excited; they knew the truth, too. Then it was July and then it was a week before the wedding and the whole Garcia family came down from Seattle and Jacqueline was showing them her favorite haunts and making them climb A Mountain; and then it was the morning of the wedding, much too early on the morning of the wedding, and Jacqueline was swaying in a chair while Robert’s friend Tyson did her hair (he did all the makeup and hair for the theater shows, and the wedding was a show of sorts, right?). Then she was putting her dress on and Isabelle, already dressed, zipped it up, and then it was time for her to get married.

 

They stood before their family and friends, repeating vows after the judge that had asked to do the ceremony. In sickness and in health, though good times and bad, for richer or poorer, for long as they both shall live. Robin, Robert’s third oldest sibling, sang some sort of sacred song, they lit a candle, and then they exchanged rings and kissed. (That was weird. For both of them.) Then they were married, and their audience cheered.

 

The waffle and omelet stations were well-received, and everyone congratulated them, and even Martha gave her newest daughter-in-law a rare smile and a hug. Too soon everyone was leaving, and giving Robert and Jacqueline winks, telling them to have fun on their honeymoon. Internally, Jacqueline rolled her eyes, but Robert’s hand grew damp and tight. Whatever his problem was; she didn’t expect anything, and they’d discussed this already. They went to Phoenix in a limo and caught a plane to Costa Rica, where they caught a second plane to a distant part of the island, and it was all lush and green and beautiful, and Jacqueline overheard the pilots talking about them in Spanish.

 

They had their own little cabin, white and fragrant, near the edge of the water, and a bottle of champagne waiting for them. Robert uncorked it while Jacqueline took her elaborate hair style down and put on sweat pants and a tank over a bathing suit, and then made some plates of hummus, and olives, and nuts, and little breads while Robert did the same, and they sat on their porch by the water and ate and drank, and it was all pretty much perfect.

 

“Too bad my cherry’s already popped,” Jacqueline said, happily right when Robert was drinking, so he shot champagne out his nose. She laughed while he blotted his face with the back of one hand. “Relax, dude. I’m talking about Rocky Horror. ‘I see you shiver with antici...’”

 

“You’re such a bitch sometimes.”

 

“Besides, we talked about this. Just because I’m Jacqueline Kimball now-- wow, that’s really weird-- that doesn’t mean I suddenly want to jump your bones and start making more little Kimball’s for your mother to get her hands on. Relax.” So they played cards and finished the champagne and then a bottle of wine and fell asleep just after sunset, exhausted and drunk. Their week on the island was fantastically relaxing: they got massages, went snorkeling and swimming, napped on the beach, ate delicious homegrown meals, and it was much too soon that they had to return home again. But they had to move out of their old apartments and into their new apartment before their leases were up, and Robert had to get ready for missionary school (or “Prison,” as he called it) and Jacqueline had to get ready for her senior year, and start planning for grad school. Dr. Palmero, one of her closest teacher friends, had assured her she was a shoe-in to the library science master’s program, but she still wanted to write a kick-ass essay. Topping her last big research would be difficult, but she was ready to try.

 

Life married was not much different than when they were just friends, except now they were expected to sleep together every night. It wasn’t so bad, except that Jacqueline flailed around a lot when she slept, and Robert habitually stuck his cold, cold feet against her calves, making her flinch awake suddenly. Robert had to also be a lot more careful sneaking around with his boyfriends, but Jacqueline didn’t mind. She knew what she was getting into, and at least someone in their relationship should be having fun of that sort, she decided.

 

Missionary school was mostly indoctrination, Robert found. Well, he’d expected that. It was also a lot more difficult to deal with than he’d realized: they wanted the new missionaries to say some pretty outlandish things. He’d come home humming “The Book of Mormon” and said that was the only thing that really kept him sane in class. Jacqueline spent too much time in the library researching and ordering books through World Cat, and they dressed up as Janet and Brad for Halloween.

 

Then Jacqueline was accepted into the library science program and it was April, and they learned that Robert was gong to be sent to Peru, thanks to his Spanish experience growing up and in college. Jacqueline dedicated Saturdays to “Spanish Saturdays”, where she spoke only Spanish to him, and quizzed him on a variety of liturgical subjects. His words were simple and came slowly, but he had a nice accent, and he spoke from the heart; that was the theater major in him, he said. He didn’t fight for Saturdays too much, though he was never entirely happy.

 

“Knowing a second language like Spanish will only help your career,” Jacqueline reminded him, one day when he complained one time too many. “You can take jobs in other countries, and what if you’re cast in a role that uses Spanish? You’re already ahead!”

 

Robert wasn’t convinced, but he went along with it anyway, and he improved the last few months. Then something must have snapped, because the last weeks before he left were terrible: he moped around, forgot to shower, to eat, and cried at the drop of a hat.

 

“I said I’d go, Jackie,” he told her, curled up in bed with his head on her shoulder, “but I’m scared. I’m scared that I’ll come back and have it be for nothing, and mom will change her mind.”

 

“When you come back, I’ll be out of grad school, and we can go wherever the fuck we want,” Jacqueline said with quiet determination. “I’d like to see her stop us. I have a good right hook.” She waved a fist. “And a good left one too, for that matter.”

 

“Where will we go?”

 

“You wanted to go to New York. So we’ll go to New York.”

 

“You wanted to go to Washington, DC. Library of Congress.” He shoved his face into her shirt. “It’s so hard to imagine that. I just want a place where we can hide. Remember when we wanted to get a big house for all our friends and just live there?”

 

Jacqueline laughed. “Maybe after you retire from the stage?”

 

“Or maybe we could have a place to return to when we’re tired of our jobs.” He leapt out of bed suddenly and grabbed his laptop. “Look,” he said, sniffing as he found a website. It was one of those “pay an application fee and write an essay to win” things, and it was for a twelve room bed and breakfast in someplace called Port Gilbert in Maine, right on the coast. “It’s in perfect condition, they just want a young couple to take care of it while the old owners retire. We should apply! You could write a banging essay!”

 

“You want to run a bed and breakfast in Maine?” Jacqueline said skeptically. “Maine’s a long way from New York, or even Boston, for that matter.”

 

“Who says we’ll even win? The application fee is only $150.”

 

“That’s two weeks of groceries!”

 

“Well then _I’ll_ pay it then,” he said. “But will you at least help me write the essay? Look at the place, Jackie.”

 

So she tilted the laptop screen to see the photo at the top of the page. The house was three story, white, with two gables on either side; the shutters were a mellow wisteria color that matched the blooming hyacinths that were planted before the porch; the roof was a deep green; there were trees set all around it, and it was honestly perfect.

 

“How long do we have to decide?” she asked, already caught, and Robert’s grin said he knew it.

 

“Either a year and a half or 1,000 entries, that’s what it says here, whichever comes first. But I think we should go ahead and apply. That way we can both write the essay.”

 

“How many words?”

 

“Under a thousand.”

 

Despite herself, she was already thinking of how to begin the essay. “Other rules? Topic questions?”

 

“Uh, it says here to describe why we would be the best choice to take care of the place, and what we would call it.”

 

“It doesn’t have a name?”

 

“Oh, it does, but maybe they want to see how creative we are? They think it’s time for a manger and name change?”

 

“We can start there, I guess. What were you thinking?”

 

Robert shrugged. “It’s in Port Gilbert. Maybe something like ‘Port of Call B&B?’”

 

They argued back and forth, until it was too late and they could hardly keep their eyes open. Jacqueline dreamed of the house, standing in the clearing before it, smelling the rich earth beneath her bare feet, the hyacinths casting their fragrance on the wind, which was damp with spring rain, wind chimes tinkling delicately in the distance. And then, as dreams happen, she found herself inside, in a green dining room on the back of the house, yellow curtains book ending the French doors that opened directly to the backyard, arranging some of the purple hyacinths in a vase on the table; someone came up behind her and wrapped their arms around her in a hug; she laughed and stepped away to see who it was, and it was someone she’d never seen before, a man with a scruffy face, riotous, wind-blown hair, a leather jacket and boots, tight jeans...

 

“I thought you were at the library today,” he said.

 

“No, too much to do here before we open.”

 

“The Hyacinth House is beautiful, and it will do very well.” A shadow passed over the man’s face. “It’s too bad...”

 

“Too bad what?” she asked.

 

Then it was dark, dark all around her, and she was frightened and running, and someone was chasing her; she was near the sea, she could hear it through the darkness, crashing and breaking; someone grabbed her and she fell, their flashlight illuminating the same man’s face for a moment before she woke up.

 

It was morning, and she soon forgot the dream, because she woke Robert and said, “I thought of the perfect name.”

 

They would call it the Hyacinth House.

 

* * *

 

 But Jacqueline forgot all about the essay once Robert went away and she started grad school. The degree was actually academic libraianship, and Jacqueline couldn’t hear about the Welcome to Night Vale Librarians without giggling, because one of her teachers was exactly like that-- her Research and Bibliography professor was so boring and excited about bibliographies, and would lash out at a moment if he suspected foul play with any of his precious tomes. There were a lot of projects, and they would get assigned more projects before the others were even due. Once again, Jacqueline suspected that her professors planned their calendars together, scheming to give them the hardest possible load by making everything due at the same exact times; but she couldn’t find any evidence than their obvious desire to try to kill them.

 

So she was grateful she’d gotten enough of a stipend with her TA (for Dr. Palermo’s beginning history seminar, those cute babies!) that she could go to class, work at the library until late, and then come home and collapse, without having to worry about a job too. Jack moved away, but Laurell still lived in town, teaching art classes and leading “Paint and Wine” nights at a local gallery, and they met every Sunday like clockwork to have brunch and catch up. Jacqueline missed Robert; he called every Thursday night at eight pm, and he seemed happy enough, but he was an actor, after all, so she couldn’t really tell for sure. She went for Sunday supper at the Kimballs’ house and suffered through two hours of wondering why they hadn’t started a baby and why couldn’t she convert to Mormonism and hang out with them at the church, but she was usually bolstered by several mimosas at brunch from earlier, and she made it through without chucking a plate any anyone. It was fairly easy: Martha Kimball was a great cook, and whenever someone asked Jacqueline a question, she simply shoved a bunch of food in her mouth and nodded or hummed non-committal until the questioner lost interested and she could force down the swallow and the terrible words.

 

Mr. Kimball-- Robert Sr.-- seemed to know something was up, because when he could, he stopped his wife from interrogating Jacqueline on her family’s plans for the future. He was a quiet man that Jacqueline thought was always just calmly religious and pious, but he looked at Jacqueline with humor sometimes, and once made a comment about seeing Robert on Broadway one day.

 

The two years passed both quickly and slowly. They were long because Jacqueline missed Robert and sometimes her classes were boring and stretched on interminably. But when she reflected back on the work she’d done and the nights spent studying the Dewy Decimal System and how the Vat Men made parchment, they seemed too few. Graduation was a big rush of madness not too far away, and she had far too much to do, let alone remember to check her mail every day or dust the mantel every week. But she kept her weekly call with Robert, and if she sometimes forgot to read his letters, well, she had so much else to read, and he never said much in them away.

 

She would come to regret that decision.

 

* * *

 

 

Her first sign that something was wrong was that Robert missed his weekly call. It was two weeks from graduation, and he didn’t call on Thursday night. Jacqueline waited for an extra hour, then shrugged and went to bed, one ear on the phone in case he called later. But he didn’t, and the next day she got a frantic call from Martha Kimball, demanding to know if she had heard from Robert that week, because she hadn’t received a letter like usual, and Robert wrote like clockwork.

 

“I haven’t,” Jacqueline said, shuffling through a large pile of letters. Coupons, coupons, letter, coupons, letter, letter, credit card bill she already paid online, letter. The last letter she got was from the week before. “And he missed his phone call too. He didn’t say anything about a trip to a town without phones, but maybe it was just unexpected. Do you still have your mission contacts? I put mine somewhere I can’t remember.”

 

“I tried,” Martha sniffed, “but they wouldn’t tell me anything because I’m not his emergency contact, you are!”

 

“Can you give me the number, please, mom?” Jacqueline said, annoyed. She’d gotten four letters for the apartment downstairs.

 

“Fine, fine. Call me back as soon as you know something.”

 

Jacqueline scribbled down the number on the old credit card bill and took the misplaced letters downstairs to her neighbors. When she came back, she curled up on the couch, put on the Simpson's on mute, and called the number.

 

“Yes, I’m Mrs. Kimball, his wife,” she said to the man on the other end. “I was just wondering if you’ve heard anything, because my husband missed our usual phone call the night before, and his mother is very worried. But it’s Peru, right? He’s been places without phones before, so. We just wondered, anyway.”

 

“Ah, Mrs. Kimball, yes,” the British man said, “we’ve been trying to reach you. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

 

The bottom of Jacqueline’s stomach dropped out. “What kind of accident?”

 

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Kimball. Robert fell off a mountain and he’s dead.”

 

She was silent. She couldn’t hear anything. She had the strangest urge to laugh. Who falls off a mountain in Peru? Not Robert. That silly kind of thing happened to other people, not anyone in your family or friends circle.

 

“Mrs. Kimball?”

 

No, it was all a mistake. Robert was pranking them, that was it. He was a great actor, it had to be a joke, no matter that April Fool’s Day was two and a half weeks ago. How silly.

 

“Mrs. Kimball, are you okay?”

 

Jacqueline sucked in a lungful of air, and said, “I’m sorry, what?”

 

“Your husband is dead, I’m terribly sorry, we’re sending his body back to Arizona, and we need to make arrangements on where to send it. As his medical proxy, I have to arrange this with you.”

 

His brisk tone dragged Jacqueline out of her stupor. She might as well go along with this for now; it might make Robert’s reveal even better. What did Mormons do for funerals? She dragged her laptop into her lap and googled “Mormon funeral homes Tempe” and clicked on the first one she found. She gave the man the address, and answered his questions about where to send his remaining belongings.

 

“I really am terribly sorry, Mrs. Kimball. Your husband is with God now.”

 

“Thank you,” she said automatically, and hung up. She sat on the couch for a moment, before turning the TV volume back on and finishing the episode of The Simpson's. Then she put shoes on and drove to the Kimball’s house.

 

* * *

 

Jacqueline was still half-hoping that it was all a joke. She went to her final classes, put the finishing touches on her dissertation and got ready to defend it, and then went to the funeral home the afternoon they called her and said the body had finally arrived. There was a black bag lying on a cold metal table, and they unzipped it and Robert was lying inside, cheeks sunken and bruises and scraped, eyes shut peacefully.

 

“Yes,” she said. “That’s my husband.” Her husband, her best friend, the man she had tried to help, the one she had urged to just go on the mission trip to shut up his parents, and he was dead. She found herself in the waiting room clutching a hand to her mouth, trying to catch her breath. It wasn’t a joke. He really was dead. Holy shit. She was a widow now.

 

The box of his effects came not long after, and Jacqueline found a letter, written in Spanish, that told her the truth. Apparently Robert had found a boyfriend there in Peru, and after a time some other people found out about it, and they didn’t like that very much. Did that kind of thing still happen? She didn’t think that kind of thing happened any more, even in third-world countries like Peru. It wasn’t Saudi Arabia or Afghanistan, for heaven’s sake. But Robert was dead: a mob had formed to run him out of town, he and his lover, the farmer, and they’d run him out of town all right, right out of town and over the side of a mountain.

 

Jacqueline hated Robert a little bit, as she fought her way through her defense and made arrangement for his fucking funeral right before graduation. She hated him because all he had to do was keep his head down, or at least keep his dick in his pants. Two years. That was all it would take. And then he’d be home free. But nooooo. He had to think with his dick rather than his brain, and sure, maybe he got lonely, but there’s a difference between getting lonely and wanting some company and doing really dangerous things like that.

 

On the other hand, she couldn’t really blame him. He’d never been good at celibacy, and he had been discreet, and Peru wasn’t exactly Saudi Arabia; she’d thought that herself. So while there were certainly better places to get caught in homosexual flagrante, Jacqueline was sure Robert had weighed his pros and cons. The fact that he’d made the wrong decision didn’t bear out. He was dead now. He didn’t care. It was up to Jacqueline to care.

 

She didn’t tell the rest of the Kimball’s what she had found out. It pained her to listen to them talk about what a good boy he was, what a good husband he was, what a good father to his children he could have been, but they couldn’t do any damage to him now. And she thought she could take it, though the funeral was absolutely horrible and she almost stood up and shouted the truth. He lay in the coffin, dressed in his wedding suit with the added jacket, face perfect again thanks to the powers of the undertakers. Martha Kimball was stoic and sad. None of the Kimballs, in fact, cried. That was reserved for Robert’s old theater buddies, and his ex-boyfriends. The following wake, in the Kimball clan’s house, went on too long, and the remaining Kimballs sang some sort of hymn that, while she didn’t believe all the Jesus shit, had her blinking back tears just because the melody was so beautiful.

 

Finally she could go back to her and Robert’s apartment, along with Johnny the ex- and Matt the ex-and Jack the old roommate and Laurell the best friend and Isabelle the sister who’d come down for graduation and ended up staying for the funeral. (Jacqueline had told her parents not to come, that she was having a hard enough time dealing with her in-laws, and that she wasn’t that upset, anyway; and also, they’d gone to her high school and undergrad graduations, and she didn’t even walk, she took Isabelle out for a late brunch after they slept in.) They all got really drunk and toasted the memory of Robert, and the morning came way too soon, everyone stumbling around and taking turns being sick in the bathroom. Robert, if he was in heaven, was laughing his ass off at them.

 

So now she had decisions to make. She had a job for the summer, at least, that was supposed to last her until Robert returned and they planned their next steps: working in the tutoring center at the library. It wasn’t the greatest, but she would be able to use the library for her own continued research, and anyway, it was something familiar. Her apartment was hers until at least September, and then she was free to go where she wanted. She even was a little richer now: Robert had named her in his will, and his life insurance had come through, and while it wasn’t much, she was a starving, widowed, post-grad student, and any amount of money was more than she currently had, living paycheck to paycheck.

 

Isabelle and Laurell helped Jacqueline pack up Robert’s things and donate them to the local homeless shelter. His scripts and music she gave to the theater department. He would have liked that. All his letters, stacked in piles everywhere, took longer to go through, mixed in with (already paid) bills and coupons and credit card applications, and Isabelle had gone back home by the time Jacqueline was nearly finished. It took so long because she had to read every one of them, and enjoy them. He was a terrible speller, but he really made the towns he went to seem alive, and she really regretted not reading them more carefully while he was still alive as well

 

She found the letter mixed in with one of the final stacks of letter from Robert; it slipped out when she picked the pile up to move to the couch and go through them, a pale blue envelope stamped with an embossed purple hyacinth on the back. It was from Maine.

 

Jacqueline set Robert’s letter aside for a just a moment and slit the letter open with a knife.

 

“Dear Mr. and Mrs. Kimball, thank you for your lovely essay. We think that the Hyacinth House would make a perfect name for our little lodge here in Port Gilbert, Maine. This town is the best place, we think, to raise a family. We understand that Mr. Kimball’s mission trip would mean that you could only move when he returns, but Mrs. Franklin and I don’t mind waiting at all. Please contact us at your earliest convenience to arrange for replacing contracts and deeds.

 

“Congratulations!

 

“Peter and Betty Franklin, Longview Lodge, Port Gilbert, Maine.”

 

Shit. They had won that damn competition, and now that nice old couple expected them to move up there. She never expected that they would win. It was just Robert’s luck, to be honest. She’d call them tomorrow (it was too late now) and tell them what happened, that they had applied as a joke anyway, so sorry.

 

But of course she forgot about it, caught up in starting her new job, dealing with the Kimballs (fending them off, more likely), and applying to libraries around the world. But she missed Robert. He had been her best friend for 5 years, and they’d gotten married, for heaven’s sake. She missed him. So if she was a little distracted when writing her applications, it was understandable. But as the summer went on, and she kept receiving “thank you for your application, it was a tough decision but we’ve decided to go with another candidate, please don’t be discouraged, blah blah, try again, keep checking the website, blah blah” letters, she felt the walls closing in.

 

“I’m scared I won’t do anything,” she confessed to Dr. Palmero one night over dinner at their house. Sugar, their little Pomeranian, had jumped up and was sleeping in Jacqueline’s lap as she pet the dog, Charlie loading the dishwasher in the kitchen, dishes clinking musically. “I didn’t put much effort into those applications, I’m afraid. I was distracted. And any lack of a future is therefore my own fault. But I’m still scared about it.”

 

“Jacqueline, you’re only 24 years old. You have two good degrees, speak three languages, and you have the _world_ in front of you. So you lost your husband and misspelled a few things in a few essays; you come back twice as hard next year, and they’ll be blown again, I’m sure of it. Maybe taking a year off to decide what you want to do isn’t such a bad idea. I took two years off before going back for my doctorate, you know.”

 

“I know...”

 

“ _And_ Yale rejected me twice before finally taking me.”

 

“I _know_ , but...”

 

“When was the last time you took a vacation, anyway? You just graduated, and I don’t think you’ve done anything for yourself. I know you’re upset about Robert, but he wouldn’t want you to neglect yourself and make yourself unhappy. Which is what you’re doing. So you’re stagnant. You did that to yourself.” She drained her wineglass. “Harsh, but true, sweetheart.”

 

Jacqueline stared at the floor, numb. Her mouth twisted. “You’re right.” She sighed. “I’ll decide soon. It’s almost July and I need to start thinking about if I’m going to move somewhere. Maybe I’ll just stay here. I saw a couple of museums hiring in Phoenix.”

 

“And hit it hard next year?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“Good. You’ll make me proud, darling _pequeno_.”

 

And Jacqueline would have done just that- if it weren’t for the people offering their condolences. Apparently a month was just the right amount of time for people to stop creeping around the fact that Robert was dead and say what they _actually_ meant. And they did mean well: “Sorry about Robert, Jacqueline. You’ll find someone else. A family is still in your future!” Or, “Here, you can practice holding Sue-Anne. Oh, honey, don’t look at me like that. I’m sure you’ll have a baby someday soon!”

 

They meant well, Jacqueline thought constantly, her mental teeth gritted.

 

But seriously, if they continued to offer such backwards condolences, she wouldn’t be held responsible for her actions. She’d snap.

 

The final straw came, unsurprisingly, from Martha Kimball. Jacqueline had come over for Sunday supper, and Caprice had announced that she was pregnant again. Everyone cried and doted on her, and Martha the hardest. She disappeared after the dishes had been cleared, returning with a pile of boxes she set before Caprice and Lawrence with aplomb.

 

“Oh, momma, you’re so sweet. How did you know to get me anything? You didn’t have to; we still have everything left over from Elmer here,” Caprice gushed, starting to unwrap the boxes eagerly.

 

“I didn’t know,” Martha said. “I bought them for...well...” Her eyes flicked toward Jacqueline, who was helping Lucy, Spencer’s wife, set out coffee cups and dessert plates. Jacqueline felt a terrible flash of anger, face growing red. “But since that won’t be happening...”

 

“Okay,” Jacqueline said quietly. “Okay.”

 

“What?” Martha asked. “Is dessert ready, dear?”

 

“I _understand_ that you’re convinced your one true goal in life is to nag everyone into spawning children for you to convert to Mormonism, but I am not Mormon, and I was _never going to have Robert’s child_ , and you are _obnoxious_ and _falsely pious_ as fuck. I tried to put up with it, but seriously, mom. Robert was gay! He liked men! He thought vaginas were black holes! He was terrified he’d disappear into one! He liked dick, and he got a lot of it. We never had sex, not once. Your grandchildren with us? Were never going to happen. I kept my mouth shut for Robert’s sake, but I’m done.” Jacqueline shrugged, uncomfortable with everyone’s eyes on her. “I can’t do it anymore. Your nagging was the thing that made Robert go off to fucking bum-fuck Peru and die, okay? He just wanted to make you guys happy, and guess what, it got him killed. Congratulations! Now, I’m happy for you, Caprice, and I think I’m going home now.”

 

No one stopped her, no one said a word, all shocked into silence. Jacqueline drove back to her apartment, shaking and scared; she’d never lost it quite like that before, and she wasn’t entirely certain that she liked it. She kept seeing Martha’s white face, mouth open in horror, eyes glittering with tears. She’d have to apologize, no matter how awkward that would be.

 

But first she had a letter to find. She’d email that couple (the Franklins?) and tell them they were on their way, and just leave. Running a bed and breakfast for a year wouldn’t be a bad thing, and she’d never been to Maine. The movies set there always looked so picturesque and beautiful, and the photo of the inn had been simply gorgeous. Hyacinth House would be a great distraction, and she could work up the website to be in Spanish and English, and market it to Spanish speakers too. She’d try again next year, as far as the applications for jobs went, and a fresh start would be wonderful. She’d escaped Seattle for Arizona, and Maine was as different from those two locations as anything. If they squawked because Robert was dead, well, she’d convince them somehow, or find something else to do. The terror of that uncertainty was exhilarating.

 

Hopefully Mami and Papi wouldn’t be too angry.


	2. Chapter Two

She woke up the Monday after she brought the truth to the Kimballs and went to work. She came home and found that letter, still a bit numb. All her plans of the night before seemed a bit overambitious in the light of day. She wasn’t sure she could face Martha Kimball right now, let alone the rest of them even Robert Sr. she decided to just avoid everything and called Isabelle, lying beneath her fan on the bed with the blackout curtains pulled tight so it was cool even in the sweltering gloaming.

 

“Hello?” Isabelle answered.

 

“I did something really bad.”

 

“Okay, so shoot.” Isabelle was eating something crunchy.

 

“I may have told the Kimballs that Robert was gay, and they were stupid for making him act straight, and it was kind of his fault that he was dead.”

 

Isabelle _crunched_. “Uh-huh, and then what?”

 

“I also told them that any grand kids from us were never going to happen.”

 

“Did you tell them how Robert really died?”

 

“No.”

 

Her sister sighed. “Okay. Well. What set you off?”

 

“Caprice is pregnant again, and Martha brought out a baby gift that was apparently meant for me and Robert.”

 

Isabelle let out a huge burst of laughter, choking halfway through on whatever she was eating and subsiding into coughs. When she could speak again, she said, “Wow, okay, then. Yeah, I see why you were pissed. Then you stormed out of there?”

 

“Of course I did.” Jacqueline shoved a hand into her hair. “They stood there, shocked, and watched me leave. I should apologize.”

 

“Probably,” Isabelle agreed. “What else? You never call without everything collapsing.”

 

“You do the same,” Jacqueline retorted. “Anyway, I may be moving to Maine. Actually, I am moving to Maine.”

 

“Any reason why?”

 

So Jacqueline told her about the essay contest and how they’d won and how the old couple were expecting a young, married couple and how she’d just show up alone, ready to run the damn place herself (and what did she know about running a bed and breakfast or any type of business? ugh, what was she _thinking_ ) and probably get laughed away from the front door and have to settle for a dead end job at McDonald’s and never amount to anything.

 

When Jacqueline finally lapsed into silence, Isabelle stopped crunching and said, “Okay, first of all, you’d have to do something spectacularly wrong to your brain to never amount to anything. I mean, have you never met you? You’re awesome, and I’m not even just saying that because you’re my older sister, bleh, feelings and all that. So even if you end up without a proper plan in random town, Maine, you’ll figure something out. Secondly, why not run a bed and breakfast? Sounds fun. Send me the pictures when you get a chance, huh? Thirdly, even if they turn you away just because you’re not married anymore, fuck ‘em, they don’t sound like good people anyway. I’ll work on Mami and Papi. You know they’ll worry.”

 

“They always do,” Jacqueline said.

 

“But you’re the independent, oldest sister who can do what she wants. They’ll come around in the end. You need me to come down and help pack stuff?”

 

“I was thinking about selling,” Jacqueline said. “That way I have a bit in the bank just in case. And if I’m running the bed and breakfast, then I’ll have to stay there, so I won’t need any of my own furniture. Besides, the couch is so old, and the bed’s lumpy. I’ll make do, I’m sure. I have a bunch of wedding gifts I can get rid of. If you wanted anything, let me know”

 

“Can I have the stand mixer?”

 

“Sure. I’ll send it when I get a chance.”

 

Jacqueline hung up with a strange sense of panic and calm. So she had no idea what was going to happen-- but she was going to do it anyway!

 

Luck, as it turned out, was on her side. Her landlady was so understanding (a widow herself) that she agreed to let Jacqueline out of her lease early without penalty, and it was so close to the new school year that all of her furniture and dishes and cooking things and even her washer and dryer sold much too quickly. Her bank account was nice and padded now. Her job was sad to lose her, but tutors could be replaced, even one as good as Jacqueline.

 

Mami and Papi weren’t very happy at all. They called several times a day, coming up with new arguments, for a week. Then, miraculously, they backed off.

 

“You’re an adult now,” Papi said. “We have to let you make your own decisions. At least now you’re making them for yourself, instead of letting others decide for you.”

 

“Papi, I _wanted_ to help--”

 

“I know, I know. You wanted to help. But he used you, just the same. He did it because he was scared. Now you’re striking off because you want to, and I’m proud,” he added. “But don’t tell your mama.”

 

Jacqueline grinned. “Your secret is safe with me.”

 

By the middle of July, everything was arranged. Her apartment was mostly bare, her lease was arranged, and the Franklins of Port Gilbert, Maine, were expecting her in a week and a half.

 

Laurell helped her take her suitcase to her car the morning of the 15th. It was early yet, but already blazing hot.

 

“I’ll miss you,” Laurell said, after they’d shut the trunk. “I wish things had turned out differently. We’ll all miss you here.”

 

“You can come visit, any time you want,” Jacqueline said. “I bet Maine’s a great place to paint.”

 

“Thanks. Call me when you get to Texas?”

 

They hugged, and Jacqueline jumped into her car, plugging her smart phone into the sound system and loading up her play list. She sped out of the parking lot to the strains of Iggy Popp’s “The Passenger.”

 

Her first stop was Marfa, Texas. Well, really, her first stop was Las Cruces, where she had to get gas and walk around for a bit. She also made herself a sandwich from the stuff she’d brought in the cooler-- homemade hummus, tomatoes, kalamata olives, spicy mustard, some spinach. It was about noon. She leaned against her car under the gas station canopy and shot off a few texts to people (Laurell, Isabelle, her parents). Jacqueline squinted around in the sunshine behind her sunglasses, popped her shoulders, felt vaguely guilty about something, and then hopped back into the car. She only had about 4 more hours till she reached her destination for the night.

 

She pulled into Marfa just after five-ish. The rolling desert hills were astounding. In fact, she’d loved the scenery all day. Her phone directed her to a hotel called El Cosmico where she’d booked a room for the night. Her room turned out to be an old-fashioned camper, retro and bolted to the desert ground. It was light pink with a largish porch out front. The hotel desk clerk who showed her the way called it the Vagabond. She left her suitcase in the camper and went to find dinner, some place called Jet’s, which the hotel had recommended. She ate way too much guacamole and chips, drank a margarita, and then ate a veggie plate with roasted red peppers, mushrooms, zucchini, spinach, and asparagus over couscous. Utterly stuffed, she went back to the hotel and collapsed on the bed for a nap.

 

The sun had finally sent when she woke up about nine, the sky velvety and glittering with stars. It was astoundingly clear, and still warm as she stood on the front porch of her camper. They told her the viewing station was ten miles east of the city; it took about ten minutes, and the roads were completely deserted, as was the viewing station itself, an orange concrete round tower set before orange concrete walls. Jacqueline had a folding chair in her car that she set up on the viewing platform, propping her legs up on the wall. And then she sat and enjoyed the night, and saw some strange lights off in the distance over the flat expanse of the planes up to the mountains. She packed up an hour later, went back to her little camper, and slept until morning.

 

After breakfast, she set off for Witicha Falls. That was another long day, and she didn’t go out after she checked into the Ramada. But the day after that she ended up in Little Rock, and she went walking downtown along the river and found an excellent little used bookstore. After that, it was fairly smooth sailing, with shorter days of driving. Nashville she rolled into on Saturday night, and enjoyed a vegan French Dip and one too many beers at someplace called the Wild Cow, listened to some great live music, and woke up a little late the next morning, and got to Charlotte after sundown. But the next day she got up bright and early and made it to DC just after two, checked into her hotel, and went all around. It was her first visit to the capital, and she walked the Mall, saw all the famous monuments, strolled by the White House and waved to the Obamas (somewhere in there, she supposed) before going to get some sesame chik’n at Loving Hut for dinner. The next morning she had a tour of the Library of Congress, and in the afternoon she went to the Smithsonian, meeting a few people she’d corresponded with and getting to go behind the scenes to look at some books on loan from Spain. It was absolutely perfect, and she hated to go. But Maine awaited.

 

“No, Mami, I’m fine, really.” Her mama called just as she was passing by New York City on Wednesday. “I wish you were here, I can see the city! No, it’s not too trafficy. Yeah, I should be there by Friday. Of course I’ll let you know. Uh-huh. _Yo tambien te amo_. Bye.” She stocked up on groceries in Hartford, and ordered a pizza for dinner so she could have leftovers for breakfast the next day. She downloaded a bunch of episodes of “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me” and went to scour downtown Portland, enjoying the water and the feel of the place. It was kind of like Seattle, but older and sunnier and less green, and everyone spoke with hilarious accents. Maybe she would do just fine in Maine. Of course, her waiter at dinner told her, she would have to experience a winter first before making the final call, and they were in for a doozy that year, all the almanac’s agreed on that.

 

She arrived in Port Gilbert that Friday just before noon, as she’d run into some traffic going through Bangor. The little town sat right on the water, weathered old houses overlooking the dark green water, some hideous modern stores and apartments away west of the town preserving the olden feel of the town proper. The bed and breakfast was about twenty minutes northwest of the town, set just before a small hill (too squat to be called a mountain, really) covered in trees. The sign on the driveway read “Hyacinth House Bed and Breakfast” in white and purple, flanked with big bushes of the flower, and Jacqueline felt a swoop of panic before she turned down the little road.

 

The three-story house looked almost exactly like the photos on the website, the green roof littered with leaves and flower petals. The Franklin’s small car was parked in the little gravel lot to one side of the front, and Jacqueline parked beside it before stepping out into the green and gold of the tree-vaulted courtyard. The rocking chairs rested comfortably on the front porch, and she wiped her sweaty hands nervously on her pants before ringing the doorbell.

 

For a moment, all was waiting, the wind breathing quietly among the branches, some water dripping in a fountain, a wind chime tinkling quietly to itself The footsteps approached inside and Mrs. Betty Franklin opened the door. “Oh, welcome, dear!” she said, giving Jacqueline a hug. “We are just so glad you are here! Now, Peter is at the store, and he should be back soon; will your husband be arriving soon as well? It’s so nice that a young couple like you already has two cars, and I think you and Port Gilbert will get along just famously. Please, come inside! I’ll show you the house while we’re waiting for the men to arrive.”

 

Betty Franklin had chin length, bobbed hair that was somewhere between white blonde and white, and even, perfect teeth. She was dressed in khaki shorts and a loose white button down shirt. She must have been in the kitchen when Jacqueline rang because she was holding a flowered dishtowel, which she kept crumbling up into different shapes unconsciously as she showed Jacqueline around. There was a sitting room and a library-- because those were apparently different things-- on the front of the house, both airy and white and too clean. “We keep these mostly for people to work in,” Betty Franklin said. “Everyone loves the sitting room. That’s where most people gather.” The study led directly into the sunken sitting room on the left side of the house, and it was a gorgeously comfortable room, papered with blue and gold wallpaper and sloppy comfortable dark leather couches and armchairs and a piano in the far corner. There was a big, flat screen TV over the fireplace. French doors led directly outside to the terrace.

 

Back up three steps to the dining room, which seemed oddly familiar, with green walls and yellow curtains book ending the doors to the veranda. The kitchen was silver and black and gold, modern and updated, with granite counter tops with bar stools and an extensive wine collection on the back wall. A half bathroom was hidden behind the kitchen, along with a laundry room.

 

“Now, this used to be the garage, but Peter and I changed that when we inherited from his grandfather,” Betty said, stepping back down and opening one of two doors set close together. “We keep things simple here, and we’ve named the room after how they’re decorated, or where they are. This is the garden room, because it opens to the garden.” It had its own little bathroom, and was mostly wisteria, deep maroon, and white. The room next door was the Sunset Room, done with a sage green walls, beech furniture, and a comforter done in stripes of sunset color that looked handmade. It also had a little bathroom.

 

“Yes,” Betty said, when Jacqueline mentioned that, “over half of our rooms have their own bathroom. We’re going upstairs now.”

 

There were six bedrooms on the second floor, and three had their own bathrooms; the other three had to share. “Now, Peter and I have been living in the master, here, but I think we’ve got a plan for you and your Robert, we’ll get there soon.” The Anchor, the French room, the Lace Room, the Lilac Room, and the Lighthouse room passed in quick succession; peeking into the master bedroom, it was grey and yellow. The third floor had two more bedrooms, and they each shared a bathroom. They were more traditional bed and breakfast rooms, the one facing east mostly white, the one facing west contrasting paper of blue and yellow stripes, and a yellow and grey comforter. Then they went back downstairs and outside into the garden. It was a mass of flowers, riotous and only semi-tamed, glorious in the afternoon sunshine. A path led to what Mrs. Franklin said used to be an old barn, before she and Peter fixed it up.

 

“We keep it as the honeymoon suite; it has its own kitchen and everything. We called it the Rose Cottage, for the rose bushes right outside; but you can change that if you wish. Now, I have one more place to show you. We thought you newly weds would like a little more privacy.” She took them deeper into the forest, though a glance back showed that the house was still visible, though for a moment Jacqueline wondered if Mrs. Franklin was taking her into the woods to kill her and then hide the body. But no; there was a little white house hidden in a strand of trees, though on second look it wasn’t quite so little as she’d thought. There was a large porch, with a fenced-in garden and a beautiful path leading up to it, and it turned out it was a two story house inside.

 

“This used to be the gardening shed. We fixed it up a bit.” Mrs. Franklin was looking around with satisfaction. “Actually, we fixed it up a lot. But we thought you and Robert would like it. Or if you’d rather, you can take the master bedroom and rent this out as well. There are two bedrooms upstairs, so this would be good for big families.”

 

Jacqueline shuffled her feet, trying to find the words. “This is really too much, Mrs. Franklin...I, I mean, we really--”

 

“Nonsense! Just because Peter and I are retiring doesn’t mean we want this place to do poorly It’s an investment, you’ll see. We really did love your letter, and we were so pleased that it worked out for you two. Now, shall we see if the men have arrived yet, and we can iron out the contracts? Have you had lunch yet? Oh, and here I was blathering on while you were hungry! I am so sorry, my dear.”

 

She made Jacqueline a peanut butter sandwich, fretting because she didn’t have any special vegan food in the house, even though Jacqueline protested that it wasn’t necessary, and, anyway, she loved peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, please don’t worry on her account. The afternoon stretched on, and Jacqueline grew more and more nervous. When she heard the tapping tread of shoes on the porch, she’d just about worked herself in an anxiety attack. She stood up when Mr. Franklin entered the kitchen.

 

“It was so nice to meet you both, but I’m afraid I have a confession. I’m so sorry, I should have told you, but I really needed to leave Tempe.”

 

Mr Franklin, who seemed like a nice old grandpa with pure white hair and one of those grandpa caps every old person in Maine seemed to wear, crossed his arms and leaved on the counter beside his wife.

 

“I know you specified a married couple in your essay rules, and Robert and I were married at the time we wrote the essay and won the contest. But Robert died. I’m a widow now, and I really needed to get away from his family in Arizona, because they were being just horrible, and so I came up here. I don’t know the first thing about running a bed and breakfast, and I wouldn’t even have Robert here to help me, so I understand if you want to give the inn to someone else, and I won’t even be angry. But Robert was so excited about the idea of running this place, so I had to at least try and come and plead my case to you.”

 

The Franklins shared a look that Jacqueline couldn’t quite decode. “Thank you for telling us,” Mr. Franklin said. “It was very nice to meet you. I wish I’d gotten a chance to talk with you before you said all that.” He laughed. “I thought your essay said that Robert was the theater major.”

 

What did that have to do with anything? “Yes, sir, he was,” Jacqueline said, puzzled.

 

“Well, I don’t think he had the monopoly of drama in your marriage. I’m very sorry to hear that he’s deceased.”

 

Jacqueline shrugged. “Thank you. I’ll leave immediately.”

 

“Well, now, just wait a minute,” Mrs. Franklin said. “You came all this way, and you sold all your belongings, and we haven’t made up our minds yet. Why don’t you at least stay the weekend? Peter, take Jacqueline’s things to the new cottage, would you? You came on a very good weekend, my dear, because we’re having a little town celebration tomorrow night, complete with fireworks! There are a few things in the fridge out there, and you should be just fine for dinner on your own, or you’re welcome to come up to the main house or go to town for dinner. But if I might say, my dear, you look simply exhausted! Worried about telling us about Robert, I expect. You go on now and get your things, and we’ll make sure to come get you before we go downtown tomorrow afternoon.”

 

Jacqueline burst into tears. She hadn’t really cried after Robert’s death, and she hadn’t even cried after she said all those horrible things to the Kimballs. Now these people who didn’t even know her were being so kind, and she had been so awful to them, pretending that she was fit to run the inn and all. She hugged them both, mumbling thank yous, and Mr. Franklin helped her take her suitcase and cooler to the house they’d built for her and Robert. She left everything in the kitchen and went to the master bedroom and took a long, hot shower, before climbing into the very comfortable bed between clean, fresh sheets. The bedroom faced north, and so was dim even in the late afternoon sun, and cool (Jacqueline was thankful they had thought to install air conditioning), and she spared a thought for the black-out curtains in the back of her car, providing they let her stay, and then she was asleep.

 

* * *

 

She woke up rather early the next day, about six, which meant she’d had about fourteen hours of sleep. Apparently she’d needed it, and her hair was stuck to her cheek and there were marks on her arms where the sheets had been crumpled. There was a coffee maker in the kitchen, and she found a tin of coffee in the pantry, and she turned it on before going out to stand on the porch in the almost-dawn light, the creatures of early morning creaking and twittering and being generally loud. It was so peaceful, and had cooled off a bit overnight. Jacqueline yawned, slicked her hair back from her face, and went back inside to her coffee.

 

When she was more awake, she got dressed and ate some peanut butter toast for breakfast. Then she got out her laptop and wrote a few emails, just in case she was busy later and wouldn’t have time to call people like her family and Laurell and let them know what was happening. By then it was just after eight, so she went up to the house to see if there was anything she could do to help, since she was staying there out of the goodness of their hearts. She found both Franklins up, Mr Franklin going over a map with a man, while Mrs. Franklin was busy restocking breakfast items, frying up some chocolate chip pancakes.

 

Mrs. Franklin smiled at Jacqueline when she came in. “Good morning! I hope you slept well.”

 

“I was out like a light,” Jacqueline said. “Can I help with anything? I can make pancakes, if you’d like.”

 

“Why, thank you! Here you go.” She handed Jacqueline the spatula, heading to the fridge to set out a few more yogurts. “We got three families last night. These are the Browns, visiting from Canada. Their son is six months old and simply adorable! And then we got Henry and Kevin Smith, newly-weds from Portland, they’re in the Rose Cottage, bless them. Then we got the Spichers, who took both the Garden and Sunset Rooms, since there are five of them. They’re still asleep, but the Browns are going hiking today, so Peter’s just showing them where to go. Breakfast is until 10:30.”

 

“I’d like to help, if I can.”

 

“You’re sweet. You can certainly help. They leave all their dirty linens in the basket in each room, so I usually go check, and then it’s the day for gardening. Do you garden?”

 

Jacqueline admitted that she didn’t; she was too young and busy in Seattle to think about that, and Tempe wasn’t exactly conducive to gardening, not like Betty Franklin meant.

 

“Well, don’t worry, there’s not much too it. Mostly everything’s well-trained by now. You just have to go through the beds, weed every now and then, and cut back the things that look like they’re growing too much. Spring’s a little more complicated, but there’s people in town that can help you then.” She was already talking like Jacqueline would be staying, and she noticed, though declined to comment on it, just in case she was getting her hopes up. The two more hours of breakfast passed with Betty and Peter both showing Jacqueline little tips and tricks and things they had hidden, like lists of things to do around town that Jacqueline itched to digitalize instead.

 

When the breakfast dishes had been cleared, and the Spichers had jumped through the house and out again (the Smiths hadn’t appeared, but it was their honeymoon, after all), Peter and Betty led the way to the garden. It was just as riotous as it was yesterday, and Jacqueline had no idea where to begin.

 

“Just pick a flower bed and start pulling anything that doesn’t belong,” Peter said easily, handing Jacqueline an old pair of gardening gloves and shears. So Jacqueline shrugged and went to the nearest bed and started doing things. Soon she began to see the order of things, how it wasn’t quite as overgrown and chaotic as she’d thought, and it didn’t take as long as she thought, either, bolstered by the fact that the Franklins called out tips to her as they worked, telling her to not worry if she missed anything, because they would come around again next gardening day and get it then. By the time one rolled around, they had vistaed every flower bed and had even raked the paths a bit.

 

“That didn’t take nearly as long as it usually does,” Betty said, taking a moment to drink from a tall glass of ice water; “you really helped. Thank you, Jacqueline.”

 

“Oh, any time,” Jacqueline said. “I’m going to go clean up? What else can I help with?”

 

“We have a few things, but we can take care of them. You go on and relax now, and we’ll come get you before the parade. You have stuff for lunch?”

 

“Yes, thank you. See you later!” Jacqueline rinsed off in the shower before making herself some lunch. Then, because she could, she took a nap.

 

She awoke to her phone ringing. It was Isabelle.

 

“Got your email earlier,” she said. “What’s happening?”

 

“They’re already acting like I’m staying,” Jacqueline reported. “It’s really weird.”

 

“Well, maybe you will get to stay. Don’t you want to?”

 

“You should see this place. It’s beautiful. I want it to do well. I don’t know if I _can_.”

 

“What are they doing?”

 

Jacqueline sighed and rolled over on her stomach, resting her chin on a pillow. “They’re letting me help around the place, giving me all these tips and things on how to do stuff. I _gardened_ , Izzy. Me. Gardening.”

 

Isabelle laughed. “Did you hate it?”

 

“Not really, though I can see it getting old when I’m the only one around. There’s some sort of town celebration later, with a parade and things. They’re going to take me.”

 

“They sound like really nice people. Can you handle things if you stay?”

 

“Maybe. I may have to get some help every now and then, I guess. They only do breakfast for people, and I can do that, though people would probably want real breakfast food and not tofurky sausage.”

 

Jacqueline could hear the face Isabelle made even though the phone. “Bleh.”

 

“Hey, you liked it when you didn’t know what it was. So what about you? How’s your senior year so far?”

 

And Isabelle was off on some story about what had happened in cross country practice that week. Jacqueline made appropriate noises when she was supposed to, not really following (who were these people?) but Isabelle didn’t seem to mind.

 

“Anyway, the game on Tuesday should be interesting. I’m going out with Tina and Max tonight, to see a movie. You have fun at the parade thing?”

 

“Sure,” Jacqueline said. “Tell mami and papi I said hey and that I’m fine. Talk with you soon!”

 

“Bye.”

 

Jacqueline sighed and let the phone and her face drop to the bed. She got herself up a few minutes later and searched for articles on how to run bed and breakfasts until Betty knocked on the door and asked if she were ready to go to the parades.

 

* * *

 

It was crowded and there was no place to park, but Peter Franklin seemed to know where he was going. They were driving bumper to bumper down the main street right by the water, the sidewalks overflowing with people.

 

“So what exactly are we celebrating?” Jacqueline asked from the backseat.

 

“Two hundred and seventy-six years ago today, Port Gilbert was founded,” Betty said. “There was a little fishing village here before, but they formed the town council and established the fishing club, which is still going to this day. You really did pick an excellent weekend to come. You can see all the important people, and meet some of them too.”

 

“You’ll have to meet the mayor,” Peter said.

 

“Oh, yes, we’ll have to take you to meet Lara. I think you’ll like her, and her brother too. The Mills siblings are simply famous around here.”

 

“I’ve never met a mayor before,” Jacqueline said.

 

“Lara and Alex are great,” Peter said. “Lara’s been mayor for, oh, four years now.”

 

“And Alex’s been the sheriff for three. Their family’s lived in these parts since the beginning,” Betty said. “Here, Pete, there’s a spot.” She pulled a handicap tag out of the center console and hooked it over the rearview mirror as Peter turned into the parking spot. “But they won’t be available till after the parade, because they’re in it. Now, you’re welcome to watch it with us, Jacqueline; we’ve got seats in the stands that some friends are saving for us, and I’m sure they’ll be space for you. Or we can text you where to meet us after the parade is over.”

 

“Oh, I don’t want to steal anyone’s seat,” Jacqueline said. “I’ll be fine on my own, thank you. You still have my number?”

 

“Of course. Find a good spot-- the parade starts in twenty minutes!” Peter said, and they walked off down the sidewalk, while Jacqueline decided to cross the street first, heading back the way they came. She had to say, “Excuse me, sorry, pardon me,” because there were so many people. She found a spot on top of a fence and climbed up to watch the parade.

 

It was exactly like a movie parade, she supposed. There was a marching band or three, a chorus of elementary school kids, some hot firemen, the Shriners, a group of clowns, some bikers, and a beauty queen waving in the back of a convertible. She picked up some candy that the clowns threw and shared it with the kids, saving a tootsie pop for herself. Once the parade was over (the police bikes walking slowly behind the last float), she unwrapped the candy and popped it in her mouth, wandering off in the direction the Franklins had disappeared. It was pure chaos now, with the streets still blocked off for pedestrian traffic, and everyone wandering every which way. She stopped in an old fashioned soda fountain and picked up a drink and a bag of toffees, with the vague idea that she’d send them to either Laurell or her parents or maybe even just gift them to the Franklins for being so kind to her before they kicked her out. She zipped it up in her little backpack, checking her phone. She’d gotten a text from the Franklins, asking her to meet them at the town hall, which was one street up.

 

She found a staircase and went up one street-- literally up, since the shops on the waterfront were on the slope of the hill leading to the sea. This street wasn’t blocked for the parade, so she found a crosswalk and waited. A group of the bikers from the parade rolled up, stopping at the light. She could feel them watching her as she crossed, though maybe she was just being paranoid, because they didn’t say anything to her. The town hall stood alone in a big square surrounded by several impressive statues and big trees. It was, of course, swarming with people, but she shoved her way inside.

 

“I’m looking for Peter and Betty Franklin?” she asked a security guard.

 

“Pete and Bea,” the security guard said with a nod. “They’re in the mayor’s office. You can go on through.” He opened the door he was guarding, which led down a much quieter and emptier hallway. “Last door to the right,” he called after her.

 

It was so much quieter she could hear the sound of raised voices before she’d even turned the corner. Someone was arguing about something, and it was coming from the last door at the end of the hallway, the mayor’s office.

 

“--not according to the deal,” someone was saying angrily, a woman.

 

Jacqueline knocked. There was silence before the door opened abruptly. An impressively good-looking man in a suit with a sheriff’s badge pinned to the lapel stood in the doorway. He grimaced at her, swinging the door wider and turning to address the other occupants of the room. “I believe this is the subject of your argument.” He turned back to Jacqueline. “Please, come on in, Mrs. Kimball.”

 

The Franklins were there, along with a woman who must be the mayor, because she was sitting behind the desk. She was also impressively good-looking, to match her brother, and wore a tailored suit jacket and skirt in a silvery grey. She stood when Jacqueline came in uncertainly, smiling warmly. “Hello, Mrs. Kimball, welcome to Port Gilbert. I’m Lara Mills, the mayor, and that’s my brother, Alex, the sheriff.”

 

“I hope that he’s just here to meet me, not arrest me,” Jacqueline said.

 

Mayor Mills gave a musical laugh. “No, no, unless you feel like you’ve done something wrong?”

 

“I’m sorry to have caused an argument. Can I help with anything?”

 

“No, just an argument that we generally didn’t expect to have, and it’s not really about you. Are you enjoying your time in Port Gilbert?”

 

“Yes, thank you. It’s a beautiful town. I don’t know if I’ll be staying, but I’d like to. I think I could like living here.”

 

“Really?” The Mayor tucked some of her dark hair behind her ear and perched on the edge of the desk, crossing her arms. “We heard that you won the essay contest, and were excited to meet you. That inn has been a fixture in this town since it was built, and the historical society of Port Gilbert, of which I am lead chair, is very invested in keeping it such. Tell me, do you have any experience running an inn?”

 

“No.”

 

“What did you study in college?”

 

“I have a bachelor’s degree in History, and a master’s degree in Library Science and Historical Librarianship.”

 

“A historian! How nice.” She spoke through her teeth, smiled fixed. “And what does your husband do? Where is he? I hoped to meet him as well.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m afraid you can’t,” Jacqueline said, also crossing her arms. “He’s dead. I came here by myself, full expecting the Franklins to send me away.”

 

There was a bit of an awkward silence. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Mayor Mills said eventually. “Well, I don’t know if there’s any way you can possibly take care of that house all by yourself. We do have standards to uphold.”

 

“Now, Mayor,” Betty interrupted, “I was just about to suggest, before Jacqueline came in, that you give us a little more time to make certain. Jacqueline is a very nice young lady, and she’s very capable. While there are two of us and only one of her, perhaps it may only take one young person to do the work of two old folks.”

 

”Besides, she’s free now, and there are a lot of nice men around town who would love to help her. Why, she might even find a beau or two,” Peter added.

 

Jacqueline had her doubts about that, but she didn’t say anything, just shifted on her feet. The Mayor was thinking it over with pursed lips. Alex, the sheriff, spoke up for the first time: “How long were you planning on staying here, Mrs. Kimball? Were you planning on taking care of the inn for ever and ever and ever? Or just for a while? You must have dreams.”

 

“Well,” Jacqueline said, a bit startled, “I _had_ hoped to someday work for the Library of Congress. The inn was Robert’s-- my husband’s-- idea. He wanted to be a famous musical theater actor on Broadway, and he thought having a nice home base to return to between shows would make things so much easier and more relaxing for him-- for both of us. We didn’t really think it through,” she added with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

 

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t give her at least a year,” the Sheriff said. “We can always part amiably, if it doesn’t work out. But I think you’ll find that this town changes you, and grows on you, Mrs. Kimball, and you might be just the thing we need. To run the inn. Something fresh, different. Your plans to make a Spanish-version of the website was really ingenious.”

 

“Alex...” Lara warned.

 

“I’m so sorry, madam mayor,” Alex said with a little bow. “Please, your knight awaits your decision.”

 

“And we haven’t even decided if we were going to let her stay,” Peter put in. “We just wanted to keep your apprised of the situation. If you think it’s a horrible idea, then of course we’ll take that into consideration. But if you were willing to try it, it would make our side of things easier.”

 

“Jacqueline, I feel simply awful that we’re talking about you here as though you weren’t even in the room!” Betty said. “Your abilities are wonderful, and they were never in question. Just, well, the town wants to keep their historical buildings in a certain way, and Mayor Mills ran her campaign on trying to uphold the past...”

 

Jacqueline held up her hands and shook her head. “I am not offended. Believe me, I’ve heard worse. A lot worse.”

 

“Give us at least a few more days, that’s all we ask,” Betty said.

 

The mayor sighed. “Fine. I still don’t think it’s a good idea, but I will give you a few more days.”

 

“Thank you, mayor.”

 

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, Alex and I have a dinner to get to. It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Kimball. I’m sure we will be seeing each other again very soon.”

 

“I’ll walk you out,” Alex offered. The lobby was still as chaotic as it was before, and the Franklins and Jacqueline soon got lost in the mix. Jacqueline walked quietly behind the Franklins on the way back to the car.

 

“I am _so sorry_ ,” Betty said as they slid out into traffic. “I am simply _mortified_. My dear, are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” Jacqueline said. “Really. Like I said, I’ve heard worse. And for worse reasons. Really. Don’t feel like you have to let me go or stay just because of this. Your mayor’s...intense, isn’t she?”

 

“Oh, she means well,” Peter said, “but sometimes...” He and Betty shared a look. “But look, we didn’t mean to drag you into all that, and on such a fun day too! You want to go to dinner with us, or you want us to drop you off at the inn?”

 

“If you don’t mind driving me back...”

 

“Not at all. We’re going west anyway.”

 

Jacqueline had them drop her off at the sign, and they continued on their way, as she waved. She held onto her backpack’s straps as the walked back and hopped into her car. She wanted to go get some junk food to drown her sorrows.

 

The town had, wonder of wonders, a Trader Joe’s; it was on the new side of town, in a shopping center that also had a Target, a Kohl’s, a Ross, and a Bed, Bath, and Beyond. The bikers from the parade must have all decided to come shopping after the parade, because all their bikes were lined up in the fire lane outside the store. Jacqueline grabbed a basket and marched inside. She wanted pretzels and cookie butter, and whatever else caught her eye. Maybe she should get some popcorn...

 

She wandered up the frozen aisle, inspecting the coconut milk ice cream.

 

“Hi,” someone said.

 

She glanced up. It must be one of those bikers: he wore tight jeans, leather boots, and a leather jacket. His face was scruffy, hair caramel colored, eyes blue-grey. He was gorgeous. He would give, she thought, Alex-Mills-the-Sheriff a run for his money. Still, nothing good came from guys who cornered her randomly in the grocery store.

 

“Hi,” she said, moving around him to look at the back of a box of peppermint and chocolate cookies. They weren’t vegan. She put them back.

 

“You must be new to town. Or are you visiting?”

 

“Kind of both,” she said.

 

“Well, I know mostly everyone around here, so I figured that must be the case. I’m Graham.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Jacqueline said politely, turning to go down another aisle.

 

“Are you planning on staying long? You must be, since you’re new to town and visiting.”

 

Jacqueline thought about it while she inspected a jar of cookie butter. “My plans aren’t fixed.”

 

“You’re new, your visiting, and you’re free. Can I take you around town? Show you around?”

 

“No, thank you. I’m not really in a very social mood.”

 

“Too much at the parade?” He grinned when she glared at him. “Yeah, I saw you there. It was just serendipity that I found you again, though.”

 

“It was nice to meet you,” Jacqueline said, pretzels and cookie butter in basket, ready to check out. “Have a good night.”

 

“You too!” Graham said with a grin, and he walked off to wrap his arms around the shoulders of two of his buddies who’d been waiting for him by the entrance. When he left, Jacqueline let out a small sigh. He’d been more polite than she expected. But she really wasn’t interested in anything like that, especially not right then, with so much up in the air. Luckily, she made it back to the inn without anyone else trying to chat her up, and she was soon enjoying a movie on the couch ( _Hook_ ) while gorging on pretzels dipped in cookie butter. She pretended she was asleep when someone came by and knocked softly on the door. She really _wasn’t_ feeling social either. She _hadn’t_ been lying.

 

 

The next morning she made herself get up and go to church. She’d promised her mami she would find a nice church to attend at least once or twice a month. The Franklins were already gone, a car missing from the gravel lot, and she said good morning to the Smiths as she passed through the house. She checked her phone and decided to try one of the old Methodist churches, one of the oldest in town, and she found it was right next door to the city hall, with a set of beautiful columns out front, a tall steeple, and gorgeous stained glass windows.

 

She smiled good morning at the greeters, taking a worship guide and settling up in the balcony so she could get the best view. The bells in the tower rang as the organist took up the bench and played her introit. Everyone slowly took to their pews, and she spotted the Mills, with a grimace and a swooping stomach. Luckily, they hadn’t seen her, and she didn’t recognize anyone else, so she was safe.

 

It was a nice service; she wasn’t very religious, but no one said any truly hateful things, and the choir was fairly good, for a church choir. But she couldn’t go there if the Mills did. Not after what they said the day before. Too risky. She might end up saying something too much like what she really thought. Like her last night with the Kimballs.

 

She felt a throb of guilt when it came time for the confession of sins. She really should have called them before she just up and left Tempe. Or emailed them. Or gone to grovel and beg for forgiveness. Not that she really cared what they thought, but for Robert’s sake, she really ought to have apologized. She confessed her sin.

 

When the service was over, she tried to escape before anyone spotted her, but she got caught up at the doors, where the head pastor stopped her to chat and welcome her to town and to the church. She tried to thank him and get going, but too late: “Mrs. Kimball!” Alex Mills said as he and his sister exited the church. “Fancy seeing you here.”

 

“Oh, good morning,” she said, “uh, Sheriff. And you too, Mayor. I was just talking with Dr. Stoker about his sermon, it was very...inspiring.”

 

“I’m sorry, I won’t keep you! You and the Mills have a good morning, now,” Dr. Stoker said, shaking Jacqueline’s hand. She had no choice but to sort of lead the Mills out the door and down the steps.

 

“I didn’t know you attended this church,” Jacqueline said.

 

“Yes, Alex and I have always gone here. How delightful that you found a place to worship.” The Mayor smiled her toothy smile that lacked warmth.

 

“What are your plans for today?” Alex asked.

 

“Oh, I don’t know. I should probably get back to the inn, help the Franklins. They’re letting me stay there while they decide, ah, what to do with me.” She offered them a small smile. “I always like to help if I can!”

 

“You should check out the library,” Alex suggested. “I know you studied library science, and we have a wonderful old library. It’s right around the corner.”

 

Jacqueline’s stomach let out a rumble. She wrapped her arms around her middle. “I may try that after some lunch, thank you. Have a good day?”

 

“Yes, have a good day,” Lara Mills said, and sailed off. Alex shrugged and followed. Jacqueline thankfully went the opposite direction.

 

Betty and Peter were puttering around the sitting room when she returned to the inn.

 

“Did you have a nice service? Which church did you got to?” Betty wanted to know. “We attend the Presbyterian church in town.”

 

“I went to First Methodist. I saw the Mills’ siblings there.”

 

“Oh, dear. Well, Dr. Stoker was nice, wasn’t he?”

 

“Oh, sure. Can I help with anything this afternoon?”

 

It turned out that all the guests were leaving, so she offered to help fix up their rooms and carry linens. She ended up doing most of the work, because Peter fell asleep on the front porch (face mostly covered by his cap), and Betty got distracted sewing a ripped seam on a pillowcase. They got back up around four and helped her finish up, and then shooed her out of the house to relax.

 

 

“You should check out the library,” Betty suggested. “They’re closed Mondays, but open late on Sunday night. Pick up a nice book.” So though she wasn’t very excited about it, Jacqueline drove back downtown again and found the Captain Gilbert Memorial Library. It was a grand old white mansion that had been turned into the library, she assumed, and it was really busy that evening. She went inside and told the librarians at the front desk that she needed a library card. As she filled out the form, she noticed the sounds of children giggling and laughing from somewhere in the house.

 

When she mentioned it, one of the librarians said, “Yes, that’s Jonathan, he does the story hour every Sunday night, he’s very popular with the kids. They’re on the second floor, and he doesn’t mind others listening.”

 

There were old portraits of dead people on the walls as she walked up the stairs. They looked severely down on her, and she glared at them. The reading coalesced into actual words as she entered what probably was once a ball room, lined with bookshelves containing children’s books, filled with children facing the far end of the room. Two people in chairs sat there: one held a book in his lap, and he was touching it with his fingers; the other was holding up another book, showing the children the pictures as the first guy read. Braille, she realized with a shock of interest; he was reading with his fingers. She found a free chair against a wall and settled in to listen to them read. The man-- he looked to be about her age, maybe a little older-- was a talented reader, and he did all the different voices. It was some book about dragons, and she found herself drawn in, and soon she was giggling with the rest of them.

 

They all clapped when the reader was finished, and he grinned at them, teeth white in his dark face. He stood and grabbed his long cane that had been leaning against the wall beside his chair, tucking it under his arm and moving off without any sort of difficulty. He stopped in front of Jacqueline.

 

“Hello,” he said, in his wonderful voice, offering her his hand, “I thought I noticed you come in. Are you new to town? I’m Jonathan Kinningham.”

 

“Oh, hi,” she said, jumping up and shaking his hand. “I’m Jacqueline, well, Kimball. I’m sort of new? Maybe?”

 

Jonathan laughed at her.

 

“Well, you read beautifully,” she said, a bit stung. “Now if--”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you. Please. Tell me how you’re sort of new.” Jacqueline gave him a condensed version of the story, and he nodded. “I knew that the Franklins were looking to retire, but they didn’t tell me who won! You’ll have to come on my show next week.”

 

“Show?”

 

“I do a local radio show every Saturday. You should come on and give an interview.”

 

“Oh, uh, sure?” she said. She made a face. “I’d rather not cause a bunch of fuss if I’m not going to stay after all. And the mayor...”

 

“Oh, Mayor Mills,” he said, sounding a bit angry. “She has her own opinions for sure.” He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to decide right away. Have you seen the library yet? Can I give you a tour?”

 

“Sure?” she said, wondering how a blind guy was going to give a tour, but game anyway.

 

It turned out he gave a wonderful tour, and he didn’t stumble or use his cane once, even while going up and down stairs. She didn’t want to ask, but he ended up telling her anyway.

 

“I’ve lived here my whole life, and I know it really well. It also helps that I’m legally blind, but that doesn’t mean I’m completely blind. I have tunnel vision in my left eye, and terrible, far-sightedness in my right. All that means is that I can’t drive, I’d rather read with Braille, and I get this cool cane in case I need to hit anyone.” Jacqueline giggled despite herself, and he lit up, looking so pleased with himself.

 

He walked her to the front door of the library. She noticed for the first time all the papers pinned up in the vestibule, and she went closer to read them. They were all “MISSING” posters, and it was all children. She recoiled in shock: the room was veritably wallpapered with the things.

 

“They’re all from Port Gilbert,” Jonathan said quietly.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“All these missing children. They’re from many, many years, but these are all from the Port Gilbert area.”

 

“It’s so sad.” She lifted one up between two fingers and skimmed it. Six year old boy, brown hair, green eyes, missing for a month, please call the number if you know anything-- from 1995. It was beside a poster from last year. She sighed and stepped back. “It’s really sad.”

 

“So let me give you my number, and you can let me know if you want to come on my show next Saturday,” he said briskly. They exchanged information, and she offered to drop him off somewhere. “No, thanks; I’m literally right around the corner, and-- yep, here you are!” The door of the library opened, and another man walked in, grinning. He gave Jonathan a kiss on the mouth. “This is my boyfriend, Dr. Charlie York.”

 

“Hi!” Dr. York said. “Are you new to town?”

 

“Yeah,” Jacqueline said, done with trying to explain and just embracing it. “I’m new. I’m Jacqueline Kimball.”

 

“She’s maybe taking over for the Franklins,” Jonathan said, patting his boyfriend’s chest. “I invited her on my show next Saturday.”

 

“It really is a wonderful show,” Dr. York said earnestly to Jacqueline. “And I’m not just saying that.”

 

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Don’t believe a word he says,” he said. “It was nice to meet you, Jacqueline. Let me know?” He waved goodbye as he and Dr. York left the library. Jacqueline didn’t leave quite yet: she went back inside and picked out a few books. She was checking out when someone spotted her.

 

“Fancy meeting you here!” Graham-the-biker said with a smile.

 

“Hi,” Jacqueline said, passing over her library card.

 

“Graham, don’t you be bothering Jacqueline,” the librarian said. Jacqueline willed her to catch on fire with the power of her mind. It didn’t work.

 

“So that’s your name,” Graham said. “Nice to meet you, Jacqueline. We know each other, Mrs. Smith. We’ve met before.”

 

“Your books are due in two weeks,” the librarian said with a glare at the biker and a commiserative glance at Jacqueline.

 

“Thanks,” Jacqueline said, picking them up and turning to go.

 

“So since you’ve got a library card, does that mean you’re staying here longer?” He followed her outside and to her car.

 

“Maybe,” Jacqueline said. “What do you do around town? You’ve been so interested in me, but you haven’t volunteered me anything.”

 

“I’m a cook,” he said. “And a bike mechanic. I make do. What do you do?”

 

“Nothing, yet,” Jacqueline said, “and maybe not either.” She climbed into her car and locked the doors before starting it. She waggled her fingers at Graham before backing up and driving away. She saw him grinning at her in the rear view mirror.

 

* * *

 

On Monday, she decided to start making her bi-lingual website for the Hyacinth House, so she’d have something to show the Franklins. “Say Yes to the Dress” playing in the background, she sat at the kitchen table in pajamas, toes balanced on the front stretcher of her chair, working on her website. She used some of the photos from the existing website, and stood up eventually to go take some more and realized it was three in the afternoon, she hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch, and she was still in her pajamas. She dressed and made a quick sandwich before heading up to the inn.

 

“Hello, dear,” Betty said. She was washing a bowl in the sink, and something chocolate was baking in the oven. “We missed you at breakfast this morning.”

 

“Sorry!” Jacqueline said. “I was working. Do you have a moment?” She set her laptop on the island, and went to the homepage. Mrs. Franklin ooh’ed and ah’ed through the website, and was especially pleased at the Spanish portion too.

 

“You’re so talented, my dear,” she said. “The site looks wonderful! Have you shown Pete yet?”

 

“Not yet! I didn’t realize it was so late, I’m so sorry. I was going to help you do things today. I also had a few thoughts-- you get busier on the weekends, right? What if you did wine and dinners for people here in town? That way you could get more business on nights when you might not have guests. I also thought about afternoon teas and--”

 

“BETTY!” Peter bellowed from somewhere. “HELP ME, PLEASE.” He was balanced out front on a ladder, trying to reach a cobweb on one of the lower windows, and he couldn’t climb higher without the ladder shaking. Mrs. Franklin stood back and watched while Jacqueline help the bottom of the ladder, calling out encouragements to her husband.

 

“Good afternoon, Jacqueline,” Peter said once he’d climbed back down. “We missed you this morning.”

 

“She was brainstorming for the inn, Pete,” Betty said immediately. “Show him, would you, Jacqueline?”

 

He drank a large cup of ice water as she showed him what she’d done on the website so far and explained a few of her ideas to get more business to the inn.

 

“You’ve convinced me!” he said when she was done. “The hard part will be convincing Mayor Mills. She’s mighty protective of this place, as you’ve seen.”

 

“I know,” Jacqueline said, “and I had an idea for that too. Were you and Mrs. Franklin planning on doing any sort of going-away party? For your retirement?”

 

They admitted that they hadn’t, and agreed that maybe that would be just the thing. They sat down to eat the wonderful cake that Mrs. Franklin had made (she tried a new vegan recipe in honor of Jacqueline-- easy too; a box of chocolate cake and a can of pumpkin, and then store-bought frosting as well, easy and delicious, why, she didn’t know how she’d missed that) and hammered out a few of the details.

 

“So--” Jacqueline said, heart hammering. “You-- you want me to stay?”

 

They exchanged a look. “For at least a while,” Betty said eventually. “Like we told Mayor Mills, you don’t have to do this for forever, and bringing some new blood in might be just the thing.”

 

She jumped up and hugged them both while they laughed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she cried. “I won’t let you down, I promise!”

 

“We think you’ll do just fine,” Peter said. “Though there are some proclivities in our town, that we’ll warn you about. But we think you’ll do just fine.”

 

“So let’s write this stuff out,” Betty said, rummaging in a drawer for a pad of paper and a pen that worked (she had to try several). “We haven’t had a party here in years.”

 

Later, Jacqueline called her parents, who were just home from work. She told them about all the people she’d met, and heard their stories, and then dropped the big news:

 

“So, they’re going to let me stay, at least on a trial basis,” Jacqueline announced. Her mami dissolved into half-sobbed Spanish while her papi said, “That’s so wonderful! Jackie! Oh, we’re so happy for you!” She told them about the going-away-retirement-slash open-house party they were planning, and her website, and they were so proud.

 

“Are you really wanting this?” her mami wanted to know. “You’ve done things for other people too much, and I want to make sure this is what you want, for yourself.”

 

She thought for a moment. “I mean, I would love to be working at the L of C right now, but.” She shrugged and rested her head on her hands overtop her phone where it lay on the table. “It’s a nice town. I’ve made a friend at least-- I can announce the party on the radio show, oh, what a good idea! And I don’t have to do it forever.”

 

“All right,” her mami said, satisfied for the moment. “We’ll take some time off and come visit, stay in your inn.”

 

Jacqueline made a face, and said, “We’ll discuss it.”

 

“Now, sweetie, I don’t think you can turn down any business if you want to make any money,” her papi joked.

 

“Well, _anyway_ ,” Jacqueline said, “I just wanted to let you know. So. Yeah.” They said their goodbye and hung up. Then she called Isabelle.

 

“So you’re staying,” Isabelle said instead of answering the phone like a normal person. “Good. I could hear mami and papi all the way downstairs. Can I come visit you at some point? Maybe during fall break? And I’m super upset that you won’t help me move into my dorm.”

 

“No, you’re not,” Jacqueline said.

 

“You’re right, but it seemed the right thing to say. So! Tell me everything.” That conversation was a lot more successful, and Jacqueline said goodbye a lot more cheerful. She texted Laurell to call her when she got off work, and continued to work on the website.

 

“Hello, Jacqueline,” Laurell said politely on the other end when Jacqueline’s phone rang. “How are you?”

 

“Oh, Laurell,” Jacqueline sighed. “It’s been a day, let me tell you. On the one hand, I’ve got a place to live and work for a while. On the other hand, I have a place to live and work for a while. We’re having a party for the current owners to kind of introduce the idea of me to the town. I was hoping you could send me some of your paintings?”

 

“Jacqueline, that’s such good news!” Laurell gushed. “I’m so happy for you, oh my goodness! And of course I’ll send you some paintings-- where do you want them?”

 

“There’s a big sitting room, and there’s a crusty old painting over the fireplace that needs to go, and one in the kitchen, and I thought I’d like one for my little house. I’ll pay, of course.”

 

But Laurell wouldn’t hear of it: “You can help pay for shipping, and I want you to tell people where you got them, but no! Consider it an investment, and I want an invitation at some point to come and stay there and see you, okay? So tell me everything!”

 

Talking with Laurell always made Jacqueline feel better, and she went to sleep that night feeling a lot better than she had in quite some time.


	3. Chapter Three

But she still hadn’t apologized to the Kimballs. So while preparations for the party went on, she started to craft an email that she’d send to Robert Sr. She added a little to it each day, and she asked Laurell to read it before she sent it off. Laurell was quietly disappointed that Jacqueline had waited so long, but she thought the email was great, so Friday night, Jacqueline sent it, and she resolved not to check her email until after Jonathan’s radio show Saturday morning.   
  
The radio studio was actually a cramped basement room in the city hall, but that didn’t stop Jonathan from waving and grinning through the studio window, and announcing into the microphone, “Listeners, your surprise guest has finally arrived! I’ll flip to a commercial break, and we’ll have her live on the air as soon as we return!” The great “ON-AIR” light blinked off, and Jonathan ushered her inside the sound booth.   
  
“Are you excited?” he asked her, setting her down on a stool and handing her a pair of headphones.   
  
“Sure?” she said.   
  
“You’ll be fine. I have a list of questions here, and you can read them and mark anything you don’t want to answer.”   
  
She skimmed the list: it held general questions about her childhood, her schooling, how she ended up here, and what she planned on doing with the new, improved Hyacinth House. She said that it looked fine, and then he ended the commercial break.   
  
Jonathan: “So, listeners, let me be the very first to formally introduce you to Jacqueline Kimball! Welcome to the studio, Jacqueline.”  
  
Jacqueline: “Well, it’s not all altruistic, but, yeah, I’m happy to be here.”  
  
“Before we reveal the big news, I figured our little town would like to know some more about you. Where are you from?”  
  
“Well, I was born in Seattle, and I lived there until I went to Arizona for college.”   
  
“Oh, Seattle! I loved my trip there. The Pike Place Market is wonderful. Do you know we do a little farmer’s market here, once it turns September?”  
  
“I didn’t, thanks for letting me know!”  
  
Jonathan: “What made you choose Arizona? That’s quite a long way from Washington!”  
  
“To be honest,” Jacqueline said with a laugh, “they gave me the most money, and I really liked the teacher there.”  
  
“Who was it? And what did they teach?”  
  
“Dr. Palmero in the Latin American History department there in Tempe at Arizona State. She was wonderful, and she really made me feel welcome. I also just really liked Tempe, probably because it was everything that Seattle wasn’t: dry, warm, flat.”   
  
Jonathan laughed too. “So you studied history?”  
  
“Yes. Latin American History. I took, obviously, history classes, and language classes; I speak Spanish fluently already, so I decided to learn Italian instead, and now I speak Italian semi-fluently as well.”  
  
“That’s so impressive, Jacqueline. And you met your husband, Robert, there.”  
  
“Yeah, my freshman year, at trivia night at a local pizza place. Robert was a sophomore theater major, and my team beat his by one point.”   
  
“And did you fall in love right away?” He seemed utterly unconcerned he was airing her life on the radio, but, well, she had agreed.   
  
“We were very good friends, yes,” Jacqueline said carefully. “We wanted to move in together, but we knew that his family, since they were so traditionally Mormon, wouldn’t like it, so we lived in two neighboring apartments.”  
  
“Is your family so non-traditional, then, since they’re from Seattle?”  
  
“No, I mean, they’re not either one way or the other. But they didn’t really care if we lived together because Robert was, um, gay. Really gay.”  
  
“Really?” Jonathan perked up. “Well, why did you marry, then? He wasn’t bi?”  
  
“No, definitely gay. His family didn’t know, and they wanted him to live the traditional Mormon life: marriage, kids, preaching to the non-Mormons, and Robert really wasn’t all about that at all. They fought with him over his major-- everyone else studied music or religion-- they fought with him over the fact that he didn’t want to go on a mission trip, that he didn’t want to date women, all of it. I don’t think he ever told them he was gay, to be honest.”  
  
“So, the marriage?”  
  
“His family promised that they would let him do whatever he wanted as long as he got married and went on a mission trip. Those are two years long. We talked about waiting until after his trip was over, but he needed me to be able to make decisions for the both of us, and I could only do that if I were married to him, so in the summer between my undergraduate and graduate degrees, we got married. There wouldn’t’ve been any children, obviously.”  
  
“Obviously,” Jonathan put in.   
  
“So he went off the Peru for two years.”  
  
“How did you end up winning the contest? I speak, listeners, of the contest our beloved Franklins ran to raise money for their retirement and find new owners of our historic inn. Jacqueline and her husband Robert won. How did that happen, Jacqueline?”  
  
“He begged me to write the essay. Before he left, he became, for obvious reasons, very depressed. He showed me the contest website and convinced me that having a place like that to return home to would be the best thing for both of us. He wanted to be on Broadway, and I wanted to work somewhere like the Library of Congress, but I think he really just wanted a place to be himself.”  
  
“So you wrote the essay?”  
  
“Yeah. I’m a great writer. But most of the ideas were Robert’s.”  
  
Jonathan sat back. “So, where is Robert right now?”  
  
Jacqueline gave him a twisted smile. “He died, not long before his two years in Peru was supposed to end.”  
  
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Jacqueline! You must have been heartbroken.”  
  
“I was. I still am. So there I was, a widow at twenty-five, without any real prospects because I had messed up so badly on my job applications I’d written while I was upset, and I went through my mail that had piled up. I found the letter from the Franklins, telling me we had won, and I thought, ‘Why not?’ All the things I had written I could still do, and if Robert weren’t there to help me, well, I would be all right. I’m capable. But I did something very bad before I left, and I sent back and apology in an email, but I’d like to make a statement here, if I may. I told them to listen, and I hope they are.”  
  
“Of course,” Jonathan said.   
  
“This is to the Kimballs, especially Martha. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t’ve lost my temper like I did. I know you were only trying to live your lives like you saw fit, and I’m sorry Robert didn’t fit into your world view. He quite literally lost his life trying to bend himself to fit. But I shouldn’t’ve outed him like that, and I’m so sorry. I regret it every day. Robert would be so disappointed in me. You lost your son, and then I completely ruined that for you. So, I’m sorry.”   
  
“Whew! Let’s go to a commercial break, listeners, and give Jacqueline a moment.” He switched over, and said, “Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” she sighed, “I’m okay. World’s worst apology, huh?”  
  
“I’ve heard worse. But it sounds like there’s a lot of resentment there, and they don’t sound like very nice people.”  
  
“Well, they’re nice, but a little too blind to what really is, you know?”  
  
“Do you want to stop talking about them when we get back on?”  
  
“That’s probably for the best. It would ruin my apology if I went off on them again.”   
  
Jonathan took them back on the air, welcoming the listeners back, and said, “So, Jacqueline, you decided to come up here? How was that?”  
  
“I didn’t know if the Franklins would turn me away. After all, the website specified they wanted couples, young couples. And here I was alone. But I got rid of most of my things anyway and road tripped here, fully expecting they’d send me away empty handed. I figured, hey, I’m young, I’ve got a little saved away, I’m smart; what do I have to lose?”  
  
“And how was the road trip?”  
  
“Oh, the road trip itself was amazing. I got to see places I’ve always wanted to. I visited Marfa, Texas; have you heard of that place?”  
  
“No, I haven’t.”  
  
“They’re the home of these weird lights you can see dancing off in the distance over the plains. Different colors, and it’s actually pretty spectacular. There’s also a bunch of art installations there, and my best friend from college was an art major, which is how I knew about it. It was really cool place, and I’d go back again anytime.”   
  
“Where else did you go?”  
  
“I went through Little Rock, which was nice, and I also really loved Washington DC. I spent two days there, and I got to take tours of both the Smithsonian and the Library of Congress, and it was really amazing.”  
  
“It sounds like it! And how do you like Port Gilbert so far?”  
  
“It’s really great, actually. I love the inn, and the Franklins have been so welcoming-- most everyone has, really-- and there’s so much history here. I met you down at the library, and I might volunteer there if I have some time left over from running the inn.”  
  
“So, Jacqueline, we’ve been waiting with baited breath to hear of what you’re going to be renaming the old place! Are we doing the big reveal now? Or will there be something special done?”  
  
Jacqueline crossed her arms. “I can tell you now, if you want. It doesn’t matter to me. But there will be something special, and that’s partly why I’m here this morning. I suggested to the Franklins that we give them a going-away-slash-retirement party, and also as a kind of ‘this is the kind of thing we want to do’ while I’m running the Hyacinth House.”  
  
“Oh, is that what you’re calling it? How wonderful! Really, Jacqueline, what a fabulous name!”  
  
“Thank you. I actually thought it up in a dream. I guess the gardens must have stuck in my mind. I’m not a gardener, so hopefully I can at least keep everything alive.”   
  
“So when is this party happening?”  
  
“This coming Thursday night. We don’t have any guests coming until Saturday, and I wanted to make sure we had a chance to clean up before anyone arrived.”  
  
“Details?”  
  
“Yeah-- please call up the inn for your tickets; they’re twenty bucks apiece, and include dinner and entertainment, starting at 6 that evening. We have space for thirty people, and we’re reserving a ticket-- free of charge, of course-- for the Mayor, so please call up soon before the tickets go!”  
  
“Well, that sounds like quite a lot of fun Jacqueline. Listeners-- be sure to welcome Jacqueline warmly if you see her around town, and get your tickets!”  
  
“It won’t be the last dinner party we’ll do, it’s just the first, so don’t worry.”   
  
“And that’s all we have time for now, dear listeners! I take you now to the latest pick from our very own record shop, and into the noon hour. Until next week!”  
  
He switched off the radio equipment and took off the headphones, coiling them up. Jacqueline coiled up her own headphones before handing them over.   
  
“Do you want to go somewhere for lunch?” Jonathan asked.   
  
“Wait. Here.” She pulled a ticket out of her purse and handed it over. “I wanted you to come, too.”  
  
“I’ll call up and pay for one like everyone else,” he said.   
  
“No, please, you were so kind to me, and I want you to be able to report on the party. Please.”  
  
He hesitated before taking it. “Thank you. Then how about I treat you to lunch?”  
  
“That might be a little difficult, I’m afraid.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I don’t really eat normally. I’m a vegan, I’m afraid.”  
  
He laughed. “We have a wonderful vegetarian restaurant here in town, I’m surprised you haven’t been by yet. Please. It’ll be my treat.” He hit the lights on the way out, adding, “But you’ll have to drive.”  
  


* * *

  
  
The restaurant was a diner-style place, and they served locally-grown vegetables and got all their cheese from humane dairy farms. Jacqueline privately disagreed with the statement that there could be humane dairy farms, but she appreciated the effort. They were seated, the hostess complimenting Jonathan on the great show that  morning.   
  
“And you must be Jacqueline-- welcome! Have you ever been to a vegetarian restaurant before?”  
  
“I’m actually vegan, so yeah. I didn’t expect Port Gilbert to have a place like this.”   
  
“Oh, sure. We’re taking over the world, we vegan's, you know. Well, here are your menus; your waiter will be by soon.”  
  
They perused the menus. “Do you-- do you need me to read anything for you?” she offered awkwardly.   
  
“Oh, no; see? They know me here.” He showed her what was inside his menu: a sheet of thickly printed Braille. “I know what the usuals are, and I come here so often they always print out the monthly specials for me on Braille.”  
  
“That’s nice of them! What’s good here, then?”  
  
She ended up ordering the nachos, on his suggestion; he got a special for the month, a vegan hot dog and potato salad. The nachos came out on a huge plate, piled high, with vegan nacho cheese, black beans, quinoa, avocado, corn, black olives, jalapenos, and homemade vegan sour cream. It was an orgasm for her mouth. Jonathan ate neater than she would have expected, dabbing his mouth clean after each bite. He told her about his childhood there in Port Gilbert, how he met his boyfriend, interesting things to do around town.   
  
“Some of the men around town have been asking after you,” he said after a sip of lemonade. “I wasn’t sure what to tell them. Are you interested in dating anyone right now? I know you just lost Robert, even if he was only your friend.”  
  
It was now or never. “Actually,” Jacqueline said, swallowing a mouthful of nachos, “I don’t really want to date anyone right now, or possibly ever. Not like that. I’m asexual.”  
  
“Oh,” Jonathan said, eyes getting large. “Oh, my!” He covered his mouth with a hand. “Jacqueline,” he said, ducking down and whispering, “I wouldn’t spread that around, if I were you. I really wouldn’t.”  
  
“But you and your boyfriend seem like--”  
  
“Oh, we face our share of bigots,” he said, waving a hand, “but that’s not what I mean. Certain people would not be happy that you decided to stay. I can’t say more,” he added, when Jacqueline took a breath to inquire, brows furrowed, “not here, but just-- keep that to yourself for now, okay?”  
  
“O-kay,” she agreed slowly, confused but he looked and sounded so serious. “It’s not like it should be a big secret, anyway, just a bit different. I’m straight, otherwise.”  
  
“Just-- promise me.”  
  
“Fine.” She didn’t see why it was such a big deal-- most people were just confused when she told them, not angry or disgusted, and it wasn’t like she went around throwing it at people. But fine. Whatever. She had bigger things to worry about. After they finished lunch, she dropped Jonathan off at his apartment and went to meet the cook she had hired on the Franklins’ recommendation for the party on Thursday. She parked the car outside the catering place and walked inside, the bell ringing as she opened the door.   
  
“Just a moment!” someone, presumably the cook, called from the back. Graham walked out wiping his hands on an apron he wore wrapped around his waist. “No way,” he said, jaw dropping.   
  
“Shit, really?” Jacqueline said.   
  
“I told you I was a cook, I didn’t realize that you’d book me for your party!”  
  
“You heard about that already?”  
  
“Yeah, I listen to Jonathan’s show every week while I’m baking, before appointments. Well this is just serendipitous!”  
  
“Look,” Jacqueline said, “if you heard the show you’ll know I’m not interested in anything right now. Can you be professional, or do I need to go somewhere else?”  
  
He straightened up, offended. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you. I haven’t followed you home or yelled ‘nice, tits!’ or anything.”  
  
Despite herself, Jacqueline laughed. “While that’s true, I’m really not interested, okay? Not in anything romantic. If you can’t deal with that, I’ll go somewhere else. It’s really not personal, I promise.”   
  
“Sure. Want to go over your menu options? I have a tasting plate for you.” He led the way back to the kitchens.   
  
“I’m not the best person to do this,” she warned. “I probably won’t try half the things you’ve made.”  
  
“Picky eater? Say it ain’t so!”  
  
“Of a sort. I’m a vegan.”  
  
“Ah. Well. That does pose a problem, as part of what I’ve made is crab-stuffed chicken wrapped in bacon, and cheesy grits.”  
  
Jacqueline wrinkled her nose. “While that almost sounds good, I’ll take your word on how nice it is, sorry.”  
  
“I have other things that you can taste, and I can certainly make one or two extra dishes that are more vegetables, and maybe a fruit for dessert.” He had a set of seven plates laid out on a scrumptiously clean kitchen counter, with matching forks. “So! Here I have the appetizers-- blue-cheese stuffed mushrooms, bacon-wrapped asparagus, hummus in pastry topped with kalamata olive and cherry tomato foam, crostini and liver, and, of course, fresh Maine shrimps with cocktail sauce.” She tried the hummus- it was delicious. “Since I know there will be non-meat-eaters there, I’ll include a few more things for you.”  
  
Jacqueline shrugged. “The dinner’s not for me, it’s for our guests. If that’s what they way.”  
  
“Of course, but they can enjoy vegetables just as well as you can, and it won’t hurt them. Next I have a salad course-- arugula, shaved broccolini, endive, radish, pecans, and cranberries with a goat-cheese olive oil and lemon dressing. I can whip up a version without the cheese easily enough. I left the dressing off-- here.” He rummaged in a cabinet and pulled out bottles of olive oil and vinegar. “You can get the idea.” She took a forkful. It was fresh and delicious.   
  
“After the salad, I thought a nice soup-- gazpacho, since it’s been so hot, and seafood gazpacho. This has crab and shrimp in it, sorry.” She leaned over and smelled it.   
  
“Smells good.”  
  
“Thank you. Now we get to the entrees-- I thought a choice between the crab-stuffed chicken breasts wrapped in bacon with a side of cheesy grits and grilled fresh okra, and local salmon in an orange-basil reduction over mushroom and zucchini wild rice. Most people will probably want the chicken, so I’ll make a vegetarian option for you and anyone else who so chooses.” The entrees were beautifully plated, and Jacqueline almost wished she could try them. Almost. “Lastly, I have the dessert options: chocolate-raspberry cake or vanilla-ladyfinger pudding. Both have dairy in them. How do you like cashew cream?”  
  
Jacqueline was impressed, and her eyebrows were up in her hairline. “I’m impressed,” she said aloud. “Not many people know about things like that.”  
  
Graham rolled his eyes. “I’m a cook. I try to make good recipes no matter what the ingredients. What do you think?”   
  
“I think that our friends on Thursday night will enjoy their food, and hopefully leave me large amounts of money.”   
  
They smiled at each other for a moment before Jacqueline’s phone started buzzing at her waist. “Sorry,” she said, ducking out of the kitchen to answer. “Hello?”  
  
“Hello, dear! Did you make your appointment with the cook? We listened to your interview, we thought it was very nice!”  
  
“Hi, Mrs. Franklin. I’m at the appointment right now, actually. It all looks very good-- and I actually know the cook.”  
  
“When did you meet Graham? Goodness, I had no idea!”  
  
“Was there anything you needed, Mrs. Franklin? I should probably get back to the appointment.”  
  
“I’m so sorry, my dear, I don’t mean to keep you-- can you please pick up some bananas on your way back? I don’t want to run out.”  
  
“Of course. I’ll be back soon. Bye.”  
  
“Goodbye, my dear!”  
  
“Sorry,” Jacqueline said, sticking her phone back inside her purse. “That was--”  
  
“How is Betty?” Graham asked.   
  
“Oh, um, she’s fine. Does everyone in town know them?”  
  
“After my brother drowned when I was ten, they took me in for a few years while my parents got back on their feet,” Graham said. He was boxing up the leftover food and placing the rinsed dishes in a huge, industrial sized dishwasher. “I know them very well, and they know me, too.”  
  
“I’m sorry to hear about your brother,” Jacqueline said.   
  
Graham waved it off. “That was eighteen years ago. I was just fortunate they were so kind. So. Thursday-- appetizers starting at 6:30, dinner at seven? I’ll be there at 5:30. In the meantime-- here.” He pushed over a printed sheet of paper with his elbow. “Suggested wine and liquor pairings. If you like, I order some things wholesale and get you a better price-- I know a guy who knows a guy.”  
  
“So-- how’d you get into cooking? And you ride motorcycles? My mom-- she’s an emergency room nurse-- she calls them ‘murder-cycles.’”  
  
Graham kicked up the door of the dishwasher with a toe. “My dad rode motorcycles. My mom cooked. After I graduated from high school, I got a job helping one of the local restaurants prepare things-- chop vegetables, peel fruit, wash dishes, that sort of thing. I had a knack for it, and I liked it. Then in my spare time, I helped my dad out in his garage, fixing motorcycles and cars and whatever else he needed.”  
  
“Helped?”  
  
“He retired three years ago, and I inherited the shop. I split my time between doing catering jobs and working there. It keeps me interested. Cooking and engineering are really almost the same science, you know-- the different parts working together to make something new. One’s tasty, the other gets you places. So?”  
  
Jacqueline jumped. “Sorry, I bet you have things to do. Thanks for this.” She waved the wine and liquor list slightly.   
  
“And this.” He offered her the boxed leftovers.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah, you can let Betty and Pete try it for you. Just so you can make certain it’s good.”  
  
“Oh. Thanks! I’ll see you Thursday.”  
  
“If not sooner,” he replied with a wink. Jacqueline rolled her eyes. So much for that little heart to heart. She stopped and got bananas on the way back to the inn.  
  


* * *

  
  
The hired high school kids arrived at 4:30 Thursday afternoon so Jacqueline could prep them. They would be tour guides and waiters for the evening, and they turned out spotlessly in comfortable black pants and a white shirt-- clothes that Jacqueline knew they would have and would be easy to wear. She also recommended that they wear comfortable shoes, and eyed on girl’s stilettos with incredulity, but they were her feet. There were ten of them, and they were ready to go. She gave them a quick tour and run-down, and left them stacking dishes in the kitchen just in time for Graham’s catering van to pull up.   
  
“Are you ready for tonight?” he asked her, pulling open the back doors of the van. Trays and trays of food awaited them.   
  
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, taking the tray he handed her. She commandeered the kids and soon all the food was inside the house. Graham wanted two of the kids to help him-- he knew all of them, big surprise, _not_ \-- and the others scattered to their various duties. The pianist and the singer for the evening had arrived and were settled in the sitting room, picking songs to perform.   
  
“I’m Anna Morgan,” the singer said. She was plump, pretty girl with long blond hair, and she was wearing a diaphanous lacy purple dress that sparkled. “And this is Christian.”   
  
“Hey, Jacqueline, so nice to meet you.” Christian was a cute, short boy with glasses. “ _I speak Spanish too, and I’m so excited about what you’re doing here!_ ” he added, in Spanish.   
  
“Oh, cool,” Jacqueline said.   
  
“Oh, come on, you guys, stop it with the secret codes!” Anna Morgan protested.   
  
“Oh, its okay, little _chica_ , you wish you spoke Spanish too,” Christian said with a distinct Hispanic accent that he hadn’t had a moment before.   
  
“I hate you all,” the soprano hissed, and Jacqueline laughed and left them to it. Soon light piano music was floating through the house, and the guests were arriving.   
  
Jacqueline and the Franklins had turned the inn into a wonderland, open and cool, with candles glowing everywhere, and comfortable tables in the garden, and freshly cut flowers on every surface. The guests could wander the inn and read interesting little historical cards the Franklins had pulled out of hiding, and there would be a bonfire in the backyard following dinner, and of course the pianist and the singer could entertain everyone before and after dinner.   
  
Jacqueline forced herself not to hover anxiously by the front door, but installed herself in the study, where she’d set up a drinks table. She had several types of wine, three kinds of hard liquor, and soft drinks and other non-alcoholic beverages besides. Her own Jack Daniel’s and ginger ale was hidden on a lower shelf where she couldn’t accidentally knock it over, but she needed it because she was definitely nervous.   
  
Of course, she needn’t have worried. The very first people inside were Jonathan and Charlie, arm in arm, greeted professionally and helped inside by the high schooler installed to take people’s coats or jackets and point them in the right direction.   
  
“Oh, Jacqueline, it looks so beautiful!” Jonathan gushed. “And you sold all your tickets?”  
  
“By Sunday night. I’m so glad you two could make it, and together. What would you like to drink?” She made Jonathan a virgin Cuba Libra-- basically a diet coke with lime-- and Charlie had a glass of white wine.   
  
“So how do we do this?” Charlie asked.   
  
“There’s no real method, but there’s kids floating around in case you get lost. Appetizers will start in half an hour, and dinner in an hour. I think you may know the musicians, and they’re right through there. Have fun!” she called after them.   
  
Then everyone arrived almost at once, and she didn’t have time to be worried, just made drink after drink. Too soon appetizers started floating around, and one of the kids came by specially to drop off some blanched mini-peppers that were stuffed with garlic and homemade almond-cheese that Graham made with her in mind. Of course the mayor and her brother arrived just as she’d taken a huge bite. She swallowed with difficulty and smiled through her watering eyes.   
  
“Mayor Mills, Sheriff Mills,” she said, reaching to shake their hands. “So glad you could make it.”  
  
The Mayor was glancing around her with little darting peeks, and while she didn’t look exactly happy, she didn’t really look too furious. Jacqueline was going to count that as a win for now. Her brother, the sheriff, was exactly as handsome, and he looked just as delighted as his sister looked nonplussed. His handshake lingered, and she had to nearly pull her hand free.   
  
“What would you like to drink?” she asked them. The sheriff had a whiskey on the rocks, and the mayor had a gin and tonic with orange peel. Once they’d sipped and not complained, Jacqueline said, “You can just wander. That’s how tonight is designed. In a few more minutes, the appetizers will come out. Please, enjoy yourselves.”  
  
Once they wandered off, she allowed herself to relax a little bit. She found her drink on the bottom shelf and took a large swallow. That wasn’t quite as painful as she’d thought, but wow.   
  
Five minutes before seven her kids began to lead guests towards the dining tables. Six of them had been set up in the living room quite comfortably, and Christian, the pianist, was finishing up his solo set. Jacqueline finished up making a second drink for a few people and left her station. The Franklins were deep in conversation with a stately black lady who Jacqueline remembered was the owner of a fleet of lobster boats that frequently made millions each season. If they could convince her to invest, so much the better. The Mills were seated not far from them, and were sniping not very friendly-ly at each other, it seemed. She’d have to fix that. If they pissed each other off, chances are they’d be that mush more pissed at her and her ideas.   
  
She personally led the head librarian and her date to join the Mills, having heard that Lara was good friends with her, and thankfully she and her brother stopped sniping at each other, though it was pointedly that Lara turned away from he brother, and he picked up his drink moodily and took a sip, arms crossed.   
  
Then she had to help with dinner. The kids were great, didn’t accidentally (or even accidentally on purpose) spill anything on anyone, no one complained about the food, and there was more than enough to go around. Jacqueline was too nervous to eat, and she shook her head at Graham when he offered her a plate as she hid (just for a moment!) in the kitchen.   
  
“Is it not going well?” he asked. He looked calm and cool and comfortable in his chefs white’s, completely in control, and she envied him.   
  
“Maybe? I mean, I guess so. I don’t know.”  
  
“Everyone loves it,” Anna Marie said. She and Christian had bowed out just at seven to rest for a while, and were chilling in a corner eating pasta and drinking wine. Jacqueline had switched on the sound system to quiet jazz instead. “I didn’t see one frowny face.”  
  
“Except for yours,” Christian joked. “Chill, sweetheart. It’s going great.”  
  
She rubbed her hands over her face. “I can’t even drink any more, because it would be very bad if I got drunk at my own party, ugh!”    
  
But they got through the rest of the courses just fine, and Jacqueline sent Christian and Anna Marie back out to entertain them during dessert. Graham was loading the dishwasher and Jacqueline was helping him with the rest when the kids returned with the last of the dishes and said that the guests were getting up again.   
  
Jacqueline rushed back out. She had planned out her speech too many times, and now, faced with actually giving it, they all threatened to come out at once in a rush, and she forced herself to smile, take a breath, and order them instead.   
  
“Thank you for coming out tonight,” she said. “You are welcome to stay for a while longer: we still have to light the bonfire. This was hopefully the first of events that I’ll host here at the new and improved inn, which by now you know I’m calling the Hyacinth House. Dinners twice a month, afternoon teas, book clubs, wedding and baby showers, poetry slams, open piano nights, even-- all these will help boost both the inn’s and the town’s historical and economic welfare. Preserving the history and promoting more traffic that appreciates the traditional gravitas of the venue-- that’s what I aim to do here. I would appreciate any ideas or investors, but if that’s too much, then simply attending tonight you have given me more than enough support. I know I am a stranger to town, but I hope that you will continue to embrace me as you already have, and I will consider myself so very lucky. I will tell you that I do not plan on doing this forever, so if you completely hate me, never fear-- I won’t be here eternally! But please understand that while I am here, I will be completely dedicated and forthright in my attentions to this inn and this town, and I hope that you will all continue to give me a chance. So for now, please enjoy the rest of your evening, and I’m going to go light the bonfire now.”  
  
Someone started some spontaneous applause, and she ducked out before it became too awkward. Christian and Anna Marie began performing again a moment later, and she escaped outside and lit the newspaper she had crumbled up beneath the large pile of sticks in the brand new fire circle in the garden, which had chairs and a couple of couches places around it, as well as some citronella torches to keep the worst of the bugs off anyone sitting there. A few guests, finishing their coffee or Irish coffees, drifted out and sat to enjoy the flames, and she chatted with them for a few minutes, meeting anew a farmer, a fisherman, and a local schoolteacher.   
  
The kids had to leave by nine, and she began to send them home about eight-thirty since dinner was over and everything was mostly clean. She sent them off with leftovers and forty bucks, which would put her in the red for that evening, but she’d make due. She hoped. Then someone accosted her and demanded to know about the artwork Laurell had sent up from Arizona, and she gave them her friend’s card. Everyone would get some business from tonight.   
  
She wandered back into the kitchen, where Graham was preparing a plate with lots of different things on it.   
  
“Who’s that for?” she asked, sliding into a bar stool and dropping her head onto her folded arms.   
  
“You,” he said, sliding it across the counter so it bumped her elbow.   
  
“I’m fine,” she protested, but her stomach growled, and he smiled at her as he handed her a fork.   
  
“I can’t ever eat while I’m working either,” he said, “aside from tasting to make sure the cooking’s going well.” He nodded towards his own plate of food. “But I think it went well.”  
  
“Maybe? No one stormed out in anger, and the kids didn’t do anything too terrible.”  
  
“Hiding in here?” Jonathan said. “Christian and Anna Marie just announced they’re about to perform their final piece, if you’d both like to come and listen.”  
  
Jacqueline took a last forkful of some kind of zucchini squash gratin and followed them out.   
  
“...1787,” Christian was saying, “so in the last years of Mozart’s life. This lied represents all the skill of a grown composer, who was moved by a beautiful poem.”  
  
“If you speak German,” Anna Marie put in, “you’ll be interested to hear how Mozart changed the words of the original poem: many of the “Ihrs” where changed to “Dus”, from formal -you to a friendlier, more familiar -you, and he also changed from ‘Bruder’-- brother-- to ‘Freund’, or friend. Otherwise, this poem is really rather cheesy and overly romantic, though the music is absolutely glorious. My personal favorite is the final verse.”  
  
“We thought it fitting to end such a beautiful evening with a song about evening, so here it is, Mozart’s ‘Abendempfindung,’ or ‘Evening Spirit.’”  
  
The piano began a little accompaniment, and then Anna Marie entered with a sailing melody, and though the piece was nearly six minutes long, Jacqueline didn’t think she breathed the entire time. She didn’t understand the words.   
  
“Abend ist’s, die Sonne ist verschwunden,  
Und der Mond strahlt Silberglanz;  
So entfliehn des Lebens schönste Stunden,  
Fliehn vorüber wie im Tanz.  
   
Bald entflieht des Lebens bunte Szene,  
Und der Vorhang rollt herab;  
Aus ist unser Spiel, des Freundes Träne  
Fließet schon auf unser Grab.  
   
Bald vielleicht (mir weht wie Westwind leise  
Eine stille Ahnung zu),  
Schließ ich dieses Lebens Pilgerreise,  
Fliege in das Land der Ruh.  
   
Werdet ihr dann an meinem Grabe weinen,  
Trauernd meine Asche sehn,  
Dann, o Freunde, will ich euch erscheinen  
Und will himmelauf euch wehn.  
   
Schenk auch du ein Tränchen mir  
Und pflücke mir ein Veilchen auf mein Grab,  
Und mit deinem seelenvollen Blicke  
Sieh dann sanft auf mich herab.  
   
Weih mir eine Träne, und ach! schäme  
dich nur nicht, sie mir zu weihn;  
Oh, sie wird in meinem Diademe.  
Dann die schönste Perle sein!”  
  
But she found them beautiful just the same, and the melody was absolutely gorgeous. It ended too soon, and there was a moment’s pause after Christian finished the little coda before the applause started. It was on that breath of song that Jacqueline shook hands goodbye, accepted congratulations and promises to return, and ushered everyone out of the inn. Jonathan hugged her with tears in his eyes, gushing about how perfect everything had been and how he couldn’t wait to talk about it on his show and how she had to invite him over again soon. Dr. Charlie shook her hand and said they would have to have her over one night soon, admonishing his boyfriend out of the corner of his eye. Jacqueline giggled and said they would get together, of course.   
  
“Congratulations, Mrs. Kimball,” Mayor Mills said almost sarcastically, standing on the steps of the front porch, her brother following not far behind. “Your evening was a success after all. I am pleased.”  
  
“Does that mean you’ll let me stay?”  
  
“I suppose I can give you a chance,” she said, teeth nearly clenched. “Good night. Alex, come on.”  
  
He winked at Jacqueline as he passed. “Good job, sweetheart,” he said, and left.   
  
Soon, thankfully, it was only Graham, loading things into his van, and the Franklins, who were giggling on the couch in the backyard by the bonfire. Jacqueline helped Graham finish, and then thanked him. She had already paid.   
  
“I left you a bunch of leftovers in the fridge,” he said.   
  
“What? Why? That wasn’t part of the deal. I didn’t pay for those. I can get my checkbook, hang on--”  
  
He was shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. I would have to throw that out anyway, so please, enjoy it.”  
  
“I--”  
  
He kissed her. “Just keep it,” he murmured. And then he climbed into his van and drove away.   
  
Shit. There went the rest of her evening.

 

* * *

  
  
It wasn’t that Jacqueline didn’t like kissing; in her relatively small amount of experience, it was fine, it was a nice thing, with someone who knew what they were doing. It was all the things that went along with kissing that she didn’t like, like feelings, or expectations of more, or that it would complicate things between them now, and ugh, why did Graham do that? She lay awake in her bed for hours, fuming about this, tossing over and over again till her blankets were all twisted around her and she threw them off with a growl of rage. She stalked into the kitchen for a glass of water, and drank it staring at the last dying embers of the bonfire through her kitchen window. Now she wouldn’t be able to sleep for wondering what exactly he had meant by it, and what he would expect her to do next, and how would he expect her to act the next time they were around each other and--   
  
She set her glass down with a small clink. She would have to find something to do now, before she crawled out of her skin like a damn snake or lizard. Throwing on some sweat pants and a random shirt, she went to her car and hoped she wouldn’t wake the Franklins up too badly when she turned her car on. She hadn’t gone to the beach yet, and there was one not too far from there.   
  
The parking lot glowed with light from the street lamps, but the stretch of sand beyond was dark where the light didn’t reach, and the sea crashed somewhere beyond. She turned her car off and climbed out. When she reached the sand, she toed her flip flops off and carried them. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she noticed how the sea seemed to glow, and how many stars there were above, and how peaceful it was. The sand scratched between her toes. The waves, when she reached them, bubbled and burbled to themselves, and were cold on her feet. There was so much seaweed it was like walking through grass that has just been mowed, and she hoisted up her sweats with one hand so the bottoms wouldn’t get too wet.   
  
“You’re out late.”  
  
The voice came from the darkness and scared the shit out of Jacqueline, who screamed and jumped away, deeper into the water. So much for keeping her pants dry.   
  
“Who the _fuck_ is that?” she demanded.  
  
A flashlight clicked on, illuminating his face: it was Alex Mills, the sheriff. “Sorry,” he said with a white smile, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was on patrol and I saw your car, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”  
  
A glance up at the parking lot confirmed his story, his sheriff’s Port Gilbert Police Department car parked beside her own.   
  
“I didn’t hear you drive up. Or walk up.”   
  
“Nothing nefarious,” he said cheerfully. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m fine. I just couldn’t sleep, and I realized I hadn’t gone to the beach yet, and then I had to come.”  
  
“Well, if you were planning on going swimming, don’t. Undertow and darkness really don’t mix.”  
  
“I wasn’t. I didn’t even wear a swimsuit. Besides, it’s too cold.”  
  
“Maine waters don’t heat up even in the summer, not like they do down south,” he agreed. Dressing (250): “Aside from undertow, there’s also the creatures.”  
  
“Creatures? Like fucking Nessie and mermaids.” She snorted. “Yeah. Sure.”   
  
“Don’t you know the legend of Port Gilbert?” he asked. “How Captain Gilbert made a deal with the old-world beings that would keep this town prospering past his death? Not to mention the selkies.”  
  
“The-- selkies? What the fuck are selkies?”  
  
“You know about mermaids and Nessie, but not selkies? Selkies are the seal-folk. They live as seals in the water, and when they come on land they shed their seal-skins and live and walk about as humans. They have to hide their seal-skins, though, because if they are damaged or destroyed they can never return to their true home, the ocean.”  
  
“Where does that legend come from?”  
  
“Scotland. Some parts of Iceland.”  
  
“Hmm,” Jacqueline said, skeptically. “What do the selkies have to do with Captain Gilbert?”  
  
“When he came here, legend says a terrible being of great power was already living here. This thing murdered a whole lot of people before the Captain went and made a deal with the creature.”  
  
“What was the thing?”  
  
“The story doesn’t say. Something evil, something powerful, something that hungered for blood, and especially the blood of children.”  
  
“Where do selkies come into this?”  
  
He shook his head. “Wait. So the Captain went and made a deal with the creature, and every family that moved to the area would give up something in order to stay, because the thing feasted on their terror and sadness as well as blood. In return the town would prosper, for as long as the deal was kept. And this creature was so good at preserving everything, creatures from elsewhere came to live as well, including a family of selkies, who are said to live as fishermen. But they had to give something up too, so two of them live permanently out of the water, their seal-skins destroyed forever, and so they can never really be happy and return to the sea.”  
  
“That’s so sad,” Jacqueline said after a moment. “It’s also complete bullshit. What do you take me for? I’m a historian.”  
  
“Hey, if you don’t believe me, go check out the records in the library,” the Sheriff said with a laugh. “In any case, don’t go too far into the water, or stray too much farther from the lights. This town is pretty safe--”  
  
“Because of an ancient contract with a supernatural being, yeah, right.”  
  
“--but things have been known to happen,” he continued, as though she hadn’t interrupted. “So, you have a good evening, ma’am.”  
  
“Sure,” she said. “Thanks for checking up on me, I guess.”  
  
She watched him crunch away into the distance before turning back to the darkness of the ocean. What a strange town. But if they really had documents like he mentioned at the library, it might be a good project for her, to write an article or paper. “Superstitions in Early American New England,” or something like that. They did boast a pretty good historical section in the library, and she could always use another project to keep her occupied and get her out of the inn. She walked a little father along the beach, planning her course of research, and then walked back to her car. By then the velvety darkness of three am or so was starting to give way to the grey light of dawn, and she slept without wondering about Graham Sheppard and his handsome fucking face any more.

 

* * *

  
  
The Franklins were nearly beside themselves with ecstasy over how well the dinner the day before had gone. When Jacqueline finally wandered in about eleven, letting herself sleep in, they were already packing to leave on their retirement.   
  
“Where are you going?” she asked.   
  
“Somewhere warm,” Peter said. “Maybe Arizona, since you liked it so much.”  
  
“If you do, I have a bunch of people you can meet,” Jacqueline fairly gushed. “I’m so excited for you both!”  
  
“It’s rather exciting,” Betty agreed. “I’m sad to be leaving this town, but grateful at the same time.” She was collecting pictures off the mantel. A few of them showed a much younger Peter and Betty with an infant. But none of them showed an older child.   
  
“Whose baby was that?” Jacqueline ventured.   
  
Betty paused, and pressed one to her breast. “We had Hillary just after we had her and started working the inn. But. We lost her.”  
  
“I’m so sorry,” Jacqueline said.   
  
“Never you mind, dear. You’ll understand soon enough.”  
  
That seemed like an odd thing to say, but Jacqueline saw how upset Mrs. Franklin was, and left the subject alone. Instead, she said, “What else can I help you pack? When were you planning on leaving?”  
  
They would help her over the weekend, and then the inn was hers. Though she’d had time to get used to the idea, it still filled her with terror. What did she know about running an inn? But she didn’t show it. She could totally do this. She could. She would get some help from others in case she needed it. But making sure she had breakfast things and keeping the place clean-- she could do that. The afternoon teas and book club meetings, that would fall into place as she got more comfortable, and she had friends here already.   
  
Speaking of friends, Jonathan texted her just after three and invited her out for drinks that evening at a Mexican place. The Franklins shooed her out, assuring her they would take care of the inn and the guests that last weekend, so she texted back and said she’d meet them later. Dr. Charlie was there with his boyfriend, and Christian came, and Anna Marie came later, and she met a girl named Maureen, who had red hair and freckles and worked at the library, and they hit it off right away, over chips and salsa and really good margaritas in the warm salty air on the patio section of the restaurant as the evening closed around them.   
  
But Anna Marie came about seven, and she was crying. her face blotchy and red. The group murmured around her as she dropped into a chair and wiped her cheeks with a napkin. “What happened?” Jacqueline was the only one to ask.   
  
“She teaches voice lessons to kids,” Christian answered for her. “One must have moved away. Or something.”  
  
“Or something,” Anna Marie agreed with a hitching sob. “Just another face for your wall, Maureen.”  
  
“Oh, no,” Maureen said sadly, rubbing Anna Marie’s back.   
  
“Wait, what?”  
  
“Shh,” Jonathan said, flapping a hand at Jacqueline. “Later. Not here.”   
  
She rolled her eyes. “What a fucking drama group.”  
  
“You know you love it,” Dr. Charlie said, crunching a chip. “We just keep sticking around to watch the madness. We can’t give it up.”  
  
“Yeah, whatever. Pass those chips.” They could keep their fucking secrets for all she cared. She wasn’t here for forever anyway.   
  
Later, as she and Dr. Charlie helped Jonathan and an extremely drunk Anna Marie back to their apartment, Jonathan whispered that he would tell her everything when they got back inside. Anna Marie was placed in the guest room with a glass of water and a couple of aspirin for when she woke up, and Jonathan and Dr. Charlie and Jacqueline was drinking tea quietly in the kitchen, yellow and warm and close.   
  
“There are so many missing children,” Jonathan said. “You saw them at the library.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s kind of morbid that they keep them all there.”   
  
“It’s protection, of a sort. The mayor won’t go to the library.”  
  
“Because...it’s her fault so many kids are missing?”  
  
“Jonathan,” Dr. Charlie rumbled in warning.   
  
“Shh, Charlie. She’d figure it out eventually.” Jonathan lay a hand over Charlie’s. “Yes, exactly. If you look into them, you’ll find that the kids are missing from families that have moved into town. How many infants does the hospital lose, Charlie?”  
  
Charlie ducked his head down, and she didn’t think he would answer, but he eventually mumbled, “A lot.”  
  
“I am so confused.” The sheriff’s words last night on the beach came back to her. “I was talking with the sheriff last night--”  
  
“Are you okay?” Jonathan asked with concern.   
  
“What? No, I’m fine. Is he--”  
  
“He may seem nice, but he’s really Lara’s henchman.”   
  
Jacqueline laughed. “You are all so fucking crazy. Seriously? What is this, confuse the new girl?” It was ridiculous, what they were saying, here in the brightness of the kitchen. “I’m really sorry Port Gilbert’s infant mortality is so bad, but since I don’t plan on having children, that’s not really my problem, is it?”  
  
“What?” Dr. Charlie and Jonathan both blinked at her. “What do you mean, you won’t have children? What about Graham?”  
  
Jacqueline shook her head in confusion. “Jesus, what is this? What do you guys even know?? And how?”  
  
“It’s going to sound really strange, but just listen, please. You--”  
  
“Why the hell would I want children? Do you know how children are made? I know you’re gay, but you must have some idea, and you’re a doctor, Charlie.”  
  
“I’m bi,” Charlie said. “Actually. Just so you know.”  
  
“That’s beside the point,” Jacqueline said, starting to feel a bit angry now. “I’m ace. I don’t want children because right now my life is in complete turmoil, and I wouldn’t want to actually have a child myself anyway because sex. I’m twenty-four, jesus christ. You mentioned this before, Jonathan, when I told you I was ace a week or so ago. What the fuck, guys?”  
  
“I figured you would adopt,” Jonathan mumbled, face horrified. “I didn’t even think-- what did the Sheriff tell you?”  
  
“Fuck, I don’t know. Some fairy tale about how the town got started, with supernatural beings and selkies and shit. You _believe_ all that? No way. You’re crazy.”  
  
“We might be crazy,” Dr. Charlie said. “But that’s also beside the point. We’re trying to tell you what happened and why Anna Marie was so upset tonight.”  
  
“So her student ran away. It must be tough. What does that have to do with the mayor?”  
  
“The mayor’s the one taking the children, Jacqueline,” Jonathan said.   
  
She snorted. “No fucking way. Mayor Mills? I could never see her stealing children. She is not a child kind of person. She probably gets handed a baby and holds it arm’s length, eyeing it suspiciously.”   
  
They were quiet for a moment. “Well, you’re not wrong,” Charlie said eventually. “She isn’t a child kind of person, and she does do just that when people try to get her to hold their babies. But she takes them, just the same, when their parents don’t offer them to her. That’s the point. They have to give something up in order to stay here. She gets off on their pain.”  
  
That was just what the Sheriff said. And she recalled just that morning, talking with Betty about her lost daughter. But. “No. No way.” She shook her head. “You’re all crazy. What does she do with the kids?”  
  
“We don’t know,” Jonathan whispered. “Probably eats them, or something.”  
  
Jacqueline laughed. “Okay. Well, thanks for the tea. I’m sober now. I’ll talk to guys at some point. Maybe.”  
  
“She doesn’t believe us,” Charlie said to Jonathan.   
  
“No, I don’t,” Jacqueline snapped.   
  
“She should really go check out the library,” Jonathan said to Charlie. “That would answer all her questions.”  
  
“This is not Buffy the Vampire Slayer! We can’t solve every problem by going to the library!”  
  
“I thought she was a library major in college, and she doesn’t think that every issue can be solved with a library.”  
  
“I am still here, you know!”  
  
“Such a terrible shame.”  
  
Jacqueline shoved back from the table. “Thanks for the tea. I’ll leave, and you can keep talking about me when I’m not here, instead of just talking about me like I’m not here, okay? See you later. Maybe.”   
  
She didn’t slam the door behind her when she left. It was late, there were probably people sleeping, and she was an adult now who didn’t have to troll friends in order to feel fulfilled or whatever. She climbed into bed and worked on the website a little more, but it was basically done, so she called Laurell instead.   
  
“Hey!” Laurell said when she picked up. “How are you? How did your dinner go? Did they like my paintings? You got them in time, right?”  
  
“Oh, yeah, thanks. You should be getting a call or two: a few people actually asked about the artwork. So beautiful. I love what you picked out.”  
  
Laurell sighed happily. “And how did it go?”  
  
“Everyone had a very good time,” she replied truthfully. “I think that the inn should do well.”  
  
“I am so glad for you! Let me know when a good time would be to visit, okay?”  
  
“I don’t know if you want to. My new friends are crazy. I found out today.”  
  
“What? What happened?”  
  
Jacqueline settled back, punching a pillow into a better shape. “They’re ridiculous. So I got invited out for Mexican food with Jonathan, the DJ, and his boyfriend, the doctor, and the musicians from last night, Anna Marie and Christian came too, and I also met one of the librarians, a girl named Maureen. But Anna Marie came late, all upset because one of her students she teaches singing to disappeared today.”  
  
“That’s terrible!”  
  
“It is. But they’re crazy. They’ve got some kind of conspiracy theory going on that the mayor, remember I told you about her? Mayor Lara Mills? They have this weird theory that she’s taking the kids.”  
  
“And...doing what with them, exactly?”  
  
“I don’t know, they never said. But they’re convinced. And when I told them I wasn’t really planning on having kids, they went ballistic.”  
  
“All of them?”  
  
“No, well, just Jonathan and Charlie. We were back at their apartment because, get this, they refused to talk about it while we were out, like they were afraid someone would overhear.”  
  
“And think they’re crazy?”  
  
“Either that,” Jacqueline said, “or report them back to the fucking mayor.”  
  
“They don’t sound like very stable people,” Laurell said. “Are they on medication for this? You said one of them is a doctor. They should know better.”  
  
“It’s not just them! The mayor’s brother, the sheriff, is in on it too! I think he think it’s just a myth, though. I went to the beach last night, and he was driving around on patrol and wanted to warn me not to go swimming in the dark, and he told me some bullshit about selkies. Do you even know what selkies are?”  
  
“No?”  
  
“They’re seal-people from Scotland or something. They’re seals in the water, and when they come on land they can shed their skins and become humans, and if someone destroys their skins they can’t even return to the ocean again. He warned me that a group of them was rumored to live off the coast of the town, and that’s why I shouldn’t go swimming.”  
  
“It sounds like they’re just having some fun with the new girl in town,” Laurell ventured after a moment. “Did they seem...dangerous at all to you?”  
  
“No,” Jacqueline grumbled. “It’s just stupid. They’re just stupid. I feel stupid for letting them get to me.”  
  
“It’s certainly interesting. I might have to do a selkie series now. I like the idea of that.”  
  
“If it gives you an art idea, that’s fine. They said I should go see the documents in the library. They have a nice preservation section with old books and things, and it might make a good article or paper. ‘Superstitions of Early American New England.’ Or something like that. If they’re going to be crazy, I might as well get something out of it. It can be my project this year, and I can submit it with the rest of my portfolio when I apply for jobs.” She sighed. “The Franklins are letting me stay for sure now. They’re leaving on Monday. They said they might be going to Arizona. If they do end up there, would you show them around?”  
  
“Of course! Like you even had to ask.”  
  
“So how is the rest of the gang down there?”  
  
She lay back and let Laurell prattle for a while, and then Laurell hesitated. “Jacqueline. Um. The Kimballs were asking after you. I heard your interview on the radio. I think they heard it too, because they came around to the studio and asked me some questions.”  
  
“Who? What did they say?”  
  
“It was Mr. Kimball, Robert Senior. He just asked if Robert was really gay and all. And that we knew about it.”  
  
“What did you say?”  
  
“Well, I mean, I said yes, it was true, and that we did know.”  
  
“And???”  
  
“He seemed sad, Jackie. Like, I hadn’t seen him in a while, but he looked older, more tired. Sad.”  
  
Jacqueline groaned. “I did that!”  
  
“You can’t blame yourself! They did it to themselves, Jackie. They refused to listen to Robert, and now they’re paying the consequences. Stop it. I know you’re guilting right now, I can feel it through the phone.”  
  
“If he can’t help feeling bad, I can’t help feeling bad. I should been nicer and told them in a better way. I don’t care about his mother much, because she was really just a bitch, but I do care about Robert Sr. He was always so nice to me. And his brothers and sisters were nice too. So.”  
  
“Well, you apologized, and that’s all you can do. Put it from your mind now, you’re moving on to bigger and better things. Running an inn is so exciting! And a new research project is good too!”  
  
“Yeah, okay,” she sighed. “I’ll believe you for tonight.”  
  
“Good. You better. I have to go, okay? I’ve got a late night class to teach, but please call me soon, okay? Bye!”  
  
“Bye.” She let the phone fall back on the bed. How was this her life. Ugh.


	4. Chapter Four

With the Franklins gone and her new website up, Jacqueline was a lot busier than she thought. She had to force herself to stick to a schedule of cleaning and chores, and the guests that came gave her great reviews. She also made some connections with those guests, promises to give her information to friends, hopes that she would come visit their home towns one day, and all that. She decided to start out with one afternoon tea a week, on Saturday, and she was really surprised when, three weeks in, it filled up as soon as she opened the registration on the site, so she added tea on Sunday too, and that filled up as well.

 

She got some help for the teas, those same high schoolers, and they came over to help serve, and she ordered tea sandwiches and little tarts and cookies from Graham’s catering company because she refused to handle meat and dairy and all that. She made her own vegan options (smashed chickpea sandwiches instead of chicken salad, fruit salad, gluten-free and vegan oatmeal cakes topped with homemade blackberry jam) and offered them to guests too, but not everyone that came was vegan, and she understood that. That was why she ordered out.

 

The women and little girls who came to the teas always came dressed up in lacy, pretty sun dresses, and hats with big flowers on them, and little white gloves, and they ate their dainty cucumber and mayonnaise sandwiches and drank their tea in tiny cups before taking a turn in the garden and promising to return the next weekend and bring more friends, and why did she only offer this on the weekends?

 

Instead of offering more tea parties, she started a Tuesday night Slam, where people could come and share short stories, poetry, songs, or artwork with a group. It started off small, but within two weeks had grown to a terrible size, and she had to start restricting to fifty people, and they had to start bringing their own mugs for coffee or tea or hot chocolate. On Anna Marie’s suggestion, she rigged up a giant screen with a white sheet and a projector and started showing the Metropolitan broadcasts on Sunday evenings, and there were more classical music lovers in the town than she thought, because with a ten dollar entrance fee (free for those staying in the inn already) she made a killing, even with bottomless popcorn and champagne at intermission. When it began to get cold, she had to narrow down the guest list for that, because only so many people could fit in the living room with the projector and sheet set up, but she was able to continue the tradition, and a local girl scout troop reserved a Wednesday night so that they could have a shut-in stay-awake-all-night thing in late September.

 

Between those extra events and the guests (who just kept coming, and more from Spanish-speaking countries, as she’d hoped) she was able to afford keeping the inn run and still saving some away. She’d made sure she wasn’t alone with Graham since that first evening (and he didn’t try anything in front of people anyway, thank goodness), and everything else seemed to be going her way too. The Franklins were happily in a long-term rental in Tucson, and had ventured up to Tempe to meet all Jacqueline’s friends, and were very pleased with how the Hyacinth House was being run. They always demurred offering her advice, telling her she was doing just fine.

 

In October she decided to change the Metropolitan opera night to B-horror films, and though the music lovers complained and stayed away, more people came and watched “Rocky Horror Picture Show” and “Nosforatu” and the old slasher films, and since Halloween happened to fall on a Tuesday that year, she made it an event and requested only Halloween-themed songs and poems and stories, and hoped people would come in costume. Everyone did, and they had a wonderful time. A reporter from the Bangor Daily News came for that event and took pictures and did an interview with Jacqueline after, and mailed her a copy of the resulting article, a heavy interest piece accompanied by a good photo of a smiling Jacqueline in her “When Life Gives You Lemon” costume, and then another of everyone watching Anna Marie, dressed like a calico cat, and Christian, dressed as the Phantom from the Phantom of the Opera, performing Hugo Wolf’s Nixe Binsefuss while a crowd of people in costumes watched eagerly. After that nearly every night was booked solid, and she had to hire someone to come in and help her three days a week, to do laundry and vacuum, so she would have more time to set up and plan for events.

 

She was happy.

 

She should have been suspicious.

 

* * *

 

 

 It was a gloriously slow Monday in mid-November when Graham rang the doorbell, scuffing his feet on the mat in his boots and blowing on his hands. His motorcycle he’d ridden right up to the steps over the permafrost on the grass. Jacqueline was alone, baking some fresh scones for breakfast the next morning, so she heard the bell ring. (She’d set up an electronic alarm to alert her in her little house when someone rang the doorbell, just in case they couldn’t read the sign and didn’t call her instead.)

 

“Hey,” she said when she opened the door. “What’s up? Come in so I don’t let out the heat.” She was lucky she could afford it, because she was spending a fortune on heating and it was only mid-November. When it got warmer she’d have to look into replacing windows with double-frosted panes or something so they didn’t let out as much heat, she’d have to do some research on that.

 

He cleaned his boots on the mat and toed out of them. He followed her back to the kitchen, where she put her apron back on and continued to knead her dough.

 

“Scones?” he asked.

 

“Raspberry-maple,” she said. “There’s one left if you’d like to try it. I’d love your opinion. This is my second try.”

 

He grabbed the scone from beneath the cake stand, and then a plate from the cupboards, and popped it in the microwave for a few second to heat it up, before splitting it and spreading peanut butter on it.

 

“Sure, help yourself,” she joked.

 

Graham took a huge bite. “I missed lunch, and this is really good. Try using coconut oil instead of vegan butter next time?”

 

“One step ahead of you,” she said, nodding at the empty plastic jar of coconut oil ready to be rinsed out by the sink and placed in the recycling bin.

 

“Mm,” he said, taking another bite.

 

“So what did you need?”

 

For an answer he went to the fridge and pulled out the carton of vanilla almond milk and poured himself a glass before seating himself comfortably on a bar stool. “Can I not visit a friend?” he said eventually.

 

“Is that what we are?” She quirked an eyebrow at him, cleaning off her hands to find a knife to cut the scones into pieces. “I thought we had a nice, healthy working acquaintanceship.”

 

“We have that too,” he agreed. “But I hoped we could be more than friends.”

 

“And when you mean more than friends, you mean...?”

 

“Well, I’d like to take you out on a date every now and then, stay over after parties, get to know you better. If you know what I mean.”

 

She sighed. She didn’t answer for a while, and just waited, heart in her throat, as she finished cutting the dough and placed them on the waiting baking pans that were covered with parchment paper. She sprinkled them with a little raw sugar and made sure the oven was preheated and slid the pans inside. At last she said, “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

 

“Why not? Don’t you like me? I’m not ugly, right?”

 

Despite her terror, she laughed. “What’s the end game here? We get married, settle down, have kids, grow old together? Because I can see several things very wrong with that plan.” She turned around to wash her hands in the sink, and he came and slid an arm around her waist. She shoved him away. “No. We’re having a serious conversation here. Don’t get distracted.”

 

“I’ve been the perfect gentleman,” he complained, but he let her go and went back to his seat, leaving the island between them as a buffer. “I let you hide away. I noticed you never gave us a chance to be alone.” He grinned at her. “Too tempted?”

 

Jacqueline snorted. “In your dreams. You never answered my question.”

 

“It’s a little too early to think about potential futures, Jacqueline, but, yeah, okay, I suppose we should start thinking about marriage, kids, the whole nine yards. You and I aren’t getting any younger, and I suppose your biological clock is ticking.”

 

“Oh my god.” She felt sick, and swallowed hard. “ _Please_ don’t say shit like that. That’s _awful_.”

 

“You brought it up.”

 

“There’s something you don’t know about me,” she said.

 

He eyed her. “You aren’t a lesbian, are you? You were married to a gay guy, so guess I wouldn’t be too surprised, but. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped. “This is important. No, I’m not a lesbian.”

 

“Are you still getting over your husband’s death?”

 

“No. Well, yes, but that’s not the issue.”

 

“Is it--”

 

She slammed a hand down on the counter. “Shut. Up.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, considering it. Finally, she opened her eyes, turned to him, and said, “I don’t want to get married and have kids because I’m a sex-repulsed asexual, and it would make me deeply uncomfortable to enter into a relationship with someone like you because I’ll always wonder if you’re happy and if it’ll be enough with fucking each other, and I can’t do that, so. That’s why I haven’t let us be alone, and why I don’t want you to touch me, and why we can’t date. I’m sorry.”

 

She risked a glance up at him. He was sitting there, unreadable. “So when I say it’s not you, it’s me, I really honestly and truly mean that, and I’m sorry, but I won’t do that to you,” she went on. “I mean, look at you. You probably take a different girl home every week and tumble around the sheets all night, and I don’t mean that you’re a slut or anything, but you do have sex, right? And I just can’t. And then the whole kids thing just won’t happen, obviously not from me personally, and not from anyone else for a very long time. I don’t want to stay here anyway, Graham; I’m having a wonderful time taking care of the Hyacinth House, but I also want to work at the Library of Congress, and do other things, and I can’t do that if I’m here, and I can’t do that if you and I were doing anything because then I’d have to discuss my plans with you, and I really just don’t want to feel any more guilty about hurting people than I already do.”

 

“Thank you for telling me,” he said eventually. “This...might be a problem. I-- I have to go. Thanks for the scone. It was delicious. I’ll see you on Saturday morning for the tea delivery as usual.” He left, leaving his empty plate and glass on the counter behind, and his motorcycle roared as he drove away.

 

She waited all of ten seconds before texting her friends, Jonathan and Laurell and Isabelle and, after some thought, Dr. Palmero, who wanted an update on her anyway, and she would probably get a kick of it. Someone should, because Jacqueline just felt terrible.

 

The responses rolled in:

 

“What a douchebag,” from Isabelle.

 

“I’m so sorry! Talk later?” from Laurell.

 

“Adventures in Asexuality, lol,” from Dr. Palmero, making Jacqueline smile.

 

“I’m on my way over,” came from Jonathan. She frowned, and glanced at the clock: it was time for him to be at work-- he helped out at a lawyer’s office downtown three times a week transcribing court records from tape. Why would he be coming over now? Sure enough, he knocked on the door not too long after, and Dr. Charlie was with him. Jonathan stalked inside when she opened the door, radiating anger.

 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he yelled. She recoiled, shocked. “I told you to keep that to yourself, but no, you had to go and blab to probably one of the worst people ever! What the fuck, Jacqueline?”

 

“Excuse _me_?” she shouted back. “How deep are _you_ in the closet? How often can you and your boyfriend go wandering around the city, hand in hand, kissing at street corners while you wait for the light to change? Oh, wait, _that_ doesn’t happen, but I have to keep my sexuality a secret? What is _wrong_ with you? And then you come and yell at me about being truthful? I shouldn’t’ve let you inside. You’re such an _asshole_!”

 

“I’m trying to keep you safe, you idiot! I warned you, I fucking warned you-- why do you think I’m fucking blind? Why do you think Graham lost his fucking brother when he was ten? Did we not _warn_ you a few months ago when you saw how upset Anna Marie was over losing Jennifer Prigdon? I’m really not just randomly picking shit to get worked up and angry over! Do you even realize what you’ve done? You’re going to be in danger now, and all of us in town who like you, and I hope you’re happy!”

 

“How is this _my_ fault? What the fuck do you think is going to happen, what does your disability have to do with this, or Graham’s brother, or even Anna Marie’s fucking voice student?” She screamed so loud her voice immediately ached. “You are all fucking crazy, and-- get out! Get out of here right this fucking moment! I don’t want to look at you, coming over hear and screaming abuse at how, how something bad’s going to happen? You’re fucking insane. GET OUT! GET OUT NOW!” She shoved at them both. “Just GO AWAY!”

 

“I hope you’re happy,” Jonathan spit at her before turning on his heel and walking outside. The effect was ruined when he had to pause to grope for the railing on the steps so he wouldn’t slip.

 

“Er,” Dr. Charlie said. “Sorry. I’ll try to calm him down. You should probably lay low for a while, just--”

 

“LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!”

 

“Fine.” He shook his head at her and left, helping Jonathan across the yard and back into the car.

 

Jacqueline slammed the door shut behind them and screamed wordlessly in rage. Then she locked the door and went back to the kitchen to finish cleaning from her baking, waited till the scones were done, leaving them to cool on top of the stove, and escaped back through the ankle-deep snow to her house, where she shut herself in her room and seethed.

 

 

“What an asshole,” Isabelle exclaimed. She’d called Jacqueline when she got out of class. “I mean, seriously? What an asshole. Coming over to yell at you after you got basically dumped.”

 

“Not exactly, but yeah, I get your point.”

 

“So instead, you got dumped twice. By friends. By _different_ friends.”

 

“Ugh. What is even my life.” Jacqueline shoved another spoonful of homemade chocolate coconut ice cream (it was never too cold for ice cream, not when you’d been essentially dumped) into her mouth. “So, yeah.” She sighed. “But fuck them both, right?”

 

“Seriously. But not actually. But seriously!”

 

“Thanks, you’ve been really coherent.”

 

“No more than you. Anyway, you deserve better than someone who runs off-- I mean, what even does ‘This could be a problem’ mean anyway? I mean, what the hell. And then what was Jonathan’s problem? Don’t waste your time. You’ve got shit to do anyway.”

 

“Not tonight.” She made a hole in her ice cream. “No guests tonight.”

 

“So look at some job sites. Start planning for that. Get your Thanksgiving plans in order. What were you calling it? ‘Happy Spare-the-Turkey Day’?”

 

“Spares-Giving,” Jacqueline mumbled.

 

“Get to work. Mush. Schnell. Andale!”

 

“Fine. Tell mami and papi I said hola. Bye.”

 

“Bye.”

 

Jacqueline made a face at the remainder of her ice cream before shoving it into the sink. She spent the remainder of the short afternoon on the couch, planning a Spares-Giving dinner without using Graham to help out, falling asleep around seven to the sound of the Simpson's arguing about something or other on the TV.

 

It was the sound of the TV turning off that woke her.

 

“Jacqueline.”

 

“Holy shit,” she yelled, jerking up; only a lucky arm saved her laptop from dropping on the floor. “Um, Sheriff Mills, how the hell did you get inside?”

 

The Sheriff wasn’t looking at her though, but over the couch. “She’s awake,” he called.

 

“Good evening, Mrs. Kimball. Please pardon the interruption. I thought we should have a little chat.” Mayor Mills came around and sat on the edge of a chair, hair perfectly sculpted, wearing a tight grey skirt and a fitted coat with a plush knitted blue scarf.

 

“Not to be rude, but how did you get in? I know I locked the door.”

 

“I’m the mayor of this town, and he’s the sheriff. We were concerned for your safety, that’s all, and came to check in on you. We heard that you had an unsettling visit this afternoon. Or rather, two unsettling visits.”

 

“I’m-- I’m sorry, but how did--”

 

“Oh, Graham told us, of course.” She waved the free hand that wasn’t pulling off a brown leather glove. “Yes, he was very upset, you see, and then we saw Jonathan leaving in the middle of his shift, and we could only assume the worst.” The mayor shot her brother, who had settled in a comfortable stance on Jacqueline’s other side, a glance; it didn’t look friendly. “I had hoped to wait to have this conversation, but since Sheriff Mills here decided to educate you on some of the more interesting folklore of the town, I have no choice but to ask you what your price will be. Obviously you won’t be giving up any children, since you made it very clear earlier that you don’t wish to have any-- so we need to come to another arrangement.”

 

Jacqueline shook her head. “I’m sorry-- what?”

 

“Your payment,” the mayor repeated impatiently. “Did you think I would allow your little business to flourish without demanding anything in return? I assure you, where I have been generous, I can also be cruel. What do you wish to pay? I don’t think you’ll want to give up anything physical, not like your friend Jonathan did; running an inn blindly would be no easy task. I suppose you could give up your hearing; you already speak three languages, and learning sign language would surely pose no great difficulty. Or you could invite your family here. Such tragic things happen every day, it would be so easy to lose your sister. Or your father. Or your mother. I thought about taking one of your friends here in town, but--” She sighed. “They’ve already kept their contracts with me, even Graham, who still owes me. But he’s more useful to me alive than dead.”

 

“The-- story was _true_?” Jacqueline narrowed her eyes at the Sheriff, who looked back serenely. “That’s such bullshit.”

 

“I can assure you it’s not, Mrs. Kimball,” Mayor Mills said. “Unless you wish to surrender yourself completely, you will have to choose to give up someone else. We need your pain. If we do not perform these sacrifices, then the whole town is in danger.”

 

“So-- there is something, something supernatural, or something, that requires-- payment? But that’s not you.”

 

“No, I am human. Merely a servant. The mayor accepts the responsibility of the contract when they assume power, and they hold that post for life. I’m not completely altruistic: I would be the first to be ruined if anyone tries to back out of the contract. I rather prefer existence than a horrifying eternity of pain.”

 

“But I didn’t want this-- what do you call it? I didn’t ask for it to help me!” Jacqueline protested. “It certainly can’t demand payment for things I never asked for, can it?”

 

“It can, and it did,” Sheriff Mills said. “The Franklins tried to warn you. I’m not sure why they-- or you, Lara-- decided to allow you to stay, and stay ignorant of what you were getting into. That’s why I decided to let you know. Between my warning and your friend Jonathan’s, you should have just kept your mouth shut and put up with Graham.”

 

“If it hadn’t been Graham, it would have been some other douche-bag asshole,” Jacqueline snapped. “Can’t I just leave? Your fucking inn will just have to survive without me. I’ll go.”

 

“Too late for that now,” the mayor said. “There’d be a snowstorm, or ice storm, or hurricane, or earthquake, or flood, or other fucking natural disaster if you tried to leave.” She exhaled. “It’s been done before, and I’m sorry, but I won’t allow you to risk the rest of the town. You’ll have to pay something. If you don’t, I will have to choose for you.”

 

Jacqueline’s mind raced. Half of her hoped this was some kind of strange, obnoxious dream, brought on by too much ice cream and thinking about myths. She pinched herself on the leg, hard-- “Ow!” she said, rubbing the red spot. Shit. She wasn’t asleep. Okay, maybe this was some kind of Punk’d moment, and Ashton Kutcher would come running in any moment. Was that even still on tv? Maybe with some other host? Maybe? Shit.

 

“You’ve gotta be making this up,” Jacqueline said eventually.

 

“I assure you, I’m not.” The Mayor sighed and rose to her feet. “Because I’m feeling generous, I will give you all the time I can-- you have a month to decide, unless things become dire. A month at the _absolute outside_. I cannot stress enough how important this is. Cooperate, and you will prosper for the rest of your days; choose to do otherwise and, well, I suggest you read some Lovecraft to imagine what eldritch terrors you’ll get to experience. Have a good night, Mrs. Kimball. You know where to find me.”

 

Alex Mills grimaced in a friendly kind of way behind his sister’s back before following her out the door, which shut with a click. Soon there was so sign they’d been there but a quickly disappearing chill from the briefly open door.

 

“Motherfucker,” Jacqueline said.

 

* * *

 

  

She couldn’t help herself: the first thing she did was try to leave. She threw some clothes into a suitcase, noticing the wind outside picking up as she did so. By the time she was stumbling across the yard toward her car, a snowstorm was howling into the area, and she made it to the main road before she lost control of her car, and skidded to a halt just short of the ditch on the side of the road. But hey, it was Maine, and freak snowstorms in the winter couldn’t be that out of place. Going three miles an hour, she pulled back into the inn’s driveway, leaving her car (and suitcase) to one side and struggling back up to the house. She checked her email, noticing that everyone for the next week had canceled their reservations. Okay, given the freak snowstorm, that wasn’t completely unexpected. If Jacqueline couldn’t even make it down the road to the town, surely no tourists would be able to get in either.

 

Except that when she checked the weather for the week, it promised clear skies and mild (for Maine in the winter) temperatures. That was a little strange. Also strange was how the snowstorm outside already seemed to be dying down.

 

Mind one ball of confusion and panic, she refused to let herself think of anything, and settled down to sleep. Maybe things would be clearer in the morning.

  

* * *

 

 

They weren’t. If anything, she was more confused. With the storm the previous evening so bad she couldn’t make her way the few hundred yards from the inn proper to her little house, there should have been massive amounts of snow lying around, but the grounds were suspiciously clear, and she was able to get to her car and drive it into town easily: the roads were all nicely salted and plowed even. She hardly knew where she was heading until she parked outside Graham’s garage, where she knew he worked on Tuesdays. Might as well start with the asshole who triggered this whole event, she thought savagely as she stomped inside.

 

The rock music was blasting, and he was lying on his back underneath a car. She flicked the radio on the bench off, and picked up a hammer that was lying beside it.

 

“Hey!” Graham protested. “How’d you get in--” He rolled out from under the car and saw who it was. His face fell. “Shit.”

 

“Yeah, shit,” Jacqueline said, punctuating her words with a threatening wave of the hammer. “Wanna explain why I had a lovely visit last night from the Mayor and her brother, the Sheriff?”

 

“Shit,” he groaned, running a hand over his eyes. “I’m-- I didn’t think-- she--”

 

“You’d better _start_ thinking, you fucking _idiot_ , or I’ll find a way to sacrifice _you_! What the _fuck_ , Graham?! I won’t sleep with you, so you go running off to tattle to the authorities?!”

 

“I didn’t have a choice,” he shouted. “I have to help the mayor out or I’ll lose everything.”

 

“That’s _not my problem_! So what, you would’ve married me, kept me here, got me pregnant, to give our kid up to the Big Bad Troll under the bridge? For _what_?”

 

Graham opened his mouth to start shouting again, then closed it with visible effort. He sighed, rubbed a hand on his jeans, and stood. “Do you want some tea? I want some tea. We’ll sit down and discuss this like adults. I’m sorry, I should have told you before this.”

 

“ _Tea_?” Jacqueline exploded. “You wanna have _tea_?”

 

“Yes, I do. You would’ve been give some time-- how long, a week? Two? There’s no rush.”

 

“You’ve done this before.”

 

“Unfortunately. So how long do you have?”

 

“...a month.”

 

“A month? That’s surprisingly generous. The mayor must like you.”

 

“Oh, yeah, the mayor likes me all right,” Jacqueline said bitterly, following Graham into his office where he had a little tea maker, but taking the hammer with her. “She likes me so much she gave me a month before I have to choose if I’m going to give up one of my friends or family or something of myself-- she really likes me.”

 

“She could’ve made you decide right then and there. And I think the fact that she was so reluctant to let you stay speaks volumes. So yeah, I think she likes you. In her own cold, calculating way.” He switched the tea maker on, and the water started heating up, filling the office with the awkward sound of anger and water boiling. He offered her a mug and she shook her head silently, and he poured himself a cup of hot water and added a tea bag before settling in his chair. “So you know I lost my brother,” he said abruptly. “That was my parents. My parents chose to give up David, and not me. I still wonder about that.”

 

“That’s real sad, but--”

 

“Shh. I’m explaining how this all works. Aren’t you a librarian? Don’t you like research and information?”

 

“You’re pissing me off, and I have a hammer,” she said in a low voice. “So hurry up and stop patronizing me.”

 

“Fine, fine. When you’re a kid, you’re subject to your parent’s choice. You don’t have to give up anything. The contract seems to work only when you consciously make a decision. So I didn’t have to give up anything until I was twenty. By then, I realized a few things about myself, and I was conscious enough to make a deal. I knew exactly the kind of prosperity I wanted, and the mayor was willing to make an allowance for me, if I agreed to work for her. She needed a few more people on the ground. I became one of her minions.”

 

“So what did you get? In return for being a Judas.”

 

“You know what my name used to be? When I was growing up?”

 

“Do I really care?”

 

“Probably not, but it’s important to my story.” Graham stuck a spoon into the mug and mashed the tea bag against the side before pulling it out and adding sugar. “My name used to be Grace.”

 

Jacqueline’s brow furrowed. “Your parents gave you a girl’s name? Or was that short for something?”

 

“My parents gave me a girl’s name because, to them, and to most people, I was a girl. I’m trans.”

 

“And I care why? I married a fucking gay guy, Graham, the fact that you’re trans doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t make me want to sleep with you any more or less.”

 

“That was what the mayor arranged. I could become Graham, become the person I was on the outside, and everyone in town would forget that I was anything other than Graham; in return, I had to agree to do whatever the mayor needed for ten years. Ten years this December. If I broke my deal, I would go back to being a girl.” He grimaced. “It seemed like a much easier time than going through surgeries and years of pills. I was young and stupid, yeah, but it was an instantaneous change. For the first time in two decades, I felt like a real person, like myself.”

 

   “That’s a really great story, but you had a choice. You chose the selfish choice. What has she made you do, over the years?”

 

“That’s the _point,_ Jacqueline! If I hadn’t agreed to that, it would have been something else, equally as horrible, I promise. It doesn’t feed on chaos or death, it feeds on our perspective emotions on those things. No matter what you choose, the end result is the same. I chose something that at least was good for me. Trust me, I have to live with the regret. Every damn day. It’s not easy, but the alternative is worse.”

 

“There’s got to be a way out of this. This is ridiculous. This kind of thing doesn’t just _happen_. This is the real world!”

 

“And terrible things happen, true. Terrible things have already happened. Now you have a chance to choose something for yourself.”

 

“At the expense of someone else,” she snapped. “If I wanted to choose for myself, I wouldn’t’ve agreed to pretend to date my ex-husband, or to marry him for real. I’m used to giving up things to help others. It’s what I _do_. It’s what _good people_ are _supposed_ to do.”

 

“Then maybe you came to this town for a reason, Jacqueline. Maybe you were called, because you’re supposed to choose yourself now. Maybe it’s you turn to be selfish. I’d say you deserve it.”

 

“But I don’t have a choice in the matter! I’m being forced to choose! What if I wanted the decision to be mine, and mine alone?”

 

“When you told your husband’s family that he was gay,” Graham said with a sip of tea, “who was that for?”

 

Jacqueline felt all the blood leave her face. “You’re an asshole,” she snarled.

 

“I think you’ve been heading here for a long time, and now it’s just a more apparent choice that you expected. I’m sorry, but I’m not that sorry. I would have liked it to be easier for you, and I do like you, and I think we would have been very happy together. And I do want a family.”

 

“You only want a family so you can give part of it up. You’re horrible.”

 

“No, I’m realistic. That would have been your decision, anyway, not mine. I know how things work.”

 

“You’re _sick_ , you’re a fucking _lunatic_ , and I wish I’d never come here and met you, and you know what? You make a horrible man.” He didn’t, and she knew that he knew she was lying through her teeth, but it was the most hurtful thing she could think of to say. “I’m taking your hammer.”

 

“Come on, Jacqueline, I need th--”

 

She smashed the window out of the car he’d been working on as she passed, and knocked off a mirror from his motorcycle, parked outside. Then she climbed into her car and carefully pulled out while he yelled at her from the garage. She gave him the finger as she passed.

 

* * *

 

 

Though she hated to say they were right, her next stop was the library. Maureen, her librarian friend, waved at her as she entered, and said, “Remember we close in twenty minutes? What were you looking for?”

 

“I need something on Captain Gilbert and the founding of the town,” Jacqueline said. “The mayor had a little chat with me.”

 

Maureen’s eyes got very large. “O-oh. So--”

 

“I want something primary.”

 

“You won’t have time to see the originals today, but a couple of them have been reprinted, which--”

 

“All of them. Whichever ones you have in.”

 

“I’ll be right back. If it takes me a little longer and they try to throw you out, tell them I’m in the vault.” She disappeared into a back room. The library slowly cleared. A few of the other librarians asked Jacqueline to leave, but she just told them that Maureen was getting something for her from the vault. They were glaring at her when Maureen finally returned, carrying a small stack of print-outs. She set them all on the counter and took out a bag from a pile underneath and slid them inside. “You can mark these up if you want, and if you want to study the originals, we’re open again on Friday.”

 

“Thanks, Maureen,” Jacqueline said.

 

“Are you--” Maureen bit her lip. “Are you okay?”

 

“No. But I will be.”

 

“Well. Good luck!”

 

Jacqueline drove slowly back to the inn. She had some research to do. She always planned to write an essay on these superstitions, and now she had an even better excuse. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel in anger. She didn’t dare jerk the wheel or stomp on the break in the snow but suddenly she was filled with rage once more.

 

There, walking carefully from the hospital to his apartment, was Dr. Charlie. She braked slowly and pulled up next to him, rolling down the window.

 

“Jacqueline,” he said, surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be out today, not after what happened.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Jacqueline said, “you tell your boyfriend that I’m still mad at him, and I have a month. If he wants to try to help, you know where I live.”

 

“Help? What do you mean, help?” He leaned in and placed his hands on the door. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

 

“Just tell him for me.” She pressed the button for the window and he jerked his hands away quickly.

 

“Wait a minute, Jacqueline, what do you mean ‘help’? Jacqueline!”

 

No, she wouldn’t enlighten him. They could come help her if they wanted, but she was through bandying information around freely. 

 

* * *

 

 

Her eyes ached by the time she finished the last of the town meeting minutes. The writing was cramped and poorly spelled, and it was late Tuesday night. The histories were rife with murder, death, kidnapping, rape, and human sacrifice, and that was only before the Accord between the supernatural thing (which Captain Gilbert called the Beast) and the new denizens of the town was struck. The tribe of Native Americans that had lived here had tried to warn them, but the Europeans had ignored it, only to lose nearly all their children and about half their adult citizens the first winter. It wasn’t until Captain Gilbert had been visited in his dreams by the Beast, who demanded he offer himself up at the beach that evening or risk losing the rest of the party. He went, and the Accord was struck: each family that moved to the region and stayed for longer than two months (or two moons, as the minutes detailed) would be required to give up something; in return, the Beast would make certain that the town would be preserved in peace, and the Beast wouldn’t take anything that wasn’t offered.

 

Then the fucking selkies came. They were called the “Seal-Men” in the minutes, and they weren’t the only supernatural creatures that came, but they were the most spectacular, because they gave up a set of twins who Captain Gilbert raised as his own, and they continued to live and mourn for their loss of the sea forever more. Jacqueline had a sneaking suspicion who that set of twins was, and marked it in the “Shit to complain to the Mayor about” list she was keeping unofficially track of inside her head, since the mayor had claimed she was human. Not entirely, if she was correct. What a lying asshole. She did feel a little bit sorry for Alex, as he was her brother and also losing the sea, but the mayor was just awful, in her opinion.

 

The minutes and the journals and the letters didn’t tell any way to exorcise or defeat or contain or stop this Beast. Not even the legend the native peoples told had a way, just a warning to avoid the area. She needed more information, but it would have to wait-- the library didn’t open again until Friday, and it was only early Wednesday. Her eyes burned but she didn't feel like sleeping. She felt like throwing up. Such tales of death and horror; and all for what? A nice place to live and an assurance that their lives would be prosperous, though filled with regret for whatever they gave up. She supposed better the sadness you chose than all the unknowns the rest of the world promised, but it still seemed awful and too personal. The rest of the world was at least personal; when your life was fucked over, it was just because, not because you did anything in particular.

 

A quick Google search on “how to defeat supernatural beings” did not turn up much. She would have to decide what exactly the thing was before she could find how to kill or contain or defeat or banish it. Instead she looked up some general advice on protection, scrolling through the poorly designed Wiccan sites to find anything actually useful. Salt was mentioned, and holy water, as well as things like the 23rd psalm and the Prayer to St. Michael. Pentagrams? The problem was she didn’t really believe in all that nonsense. She took her box of salt and sprinkled some across doorways and on window sills just in case, and poured some in a little plastic bag and stuck that in her back pocket. It was better than nothing, until she figured out something better.

 

She should sleep; but when she lay down her stomach rolled and she felt too hot; throwing off the covers just made her shiver. She must have fallen asleep eventually because when she checked her phone again it was about eleven and she had three missed calls. Her eyes were gritty and her nose was stuffy, and she stood under the hot water in the shower just inhaling the steam until her skin was red with heat and she felt a little more human. Then she scrambled up some tofu with hot sauce and dragged out the waffle iron and made chocolate chip waffles, and had cup after cup of tea.

 

She expected it when someone knocked on her door. It was Jonathan, alone for once.

 

“Where’s your boyfriend?” she asked, arms crossed, leaving him outside.

 

“He’s at work. I took a taxi here. Can I come in?”

 

“Are you going to yell at me some more?”

 

“No.” He took a deep breath, obviously trying to remain calm. “I’m here to help.”

 

“Fine.” She shut and locked the door behind him while he struggled with his boots so he wouldn’t track snow inside. She huffed out a breath. “Do you want something to drink?”

 

“Your tea smells good,” he ventured, and took a seat at the table. She poured him a mug of tea from the kettle on the stove and then sat down across from him. He was squinting at one of the town’s minutes, marked with her notes. “You’ve been doing some research. What have you found out?”

 

“Not much. The Beast or whatever it is could be just about anything. We don’t know where it lives, or even how it functions.”

 

“Captain Gilbert met it for the first time at the beach, so maybe that’s important?”

 

“You’ve done your research too.”

 

Jonathan shrugged, wrapping his hands around his mug. “When you grow up knowing that your twin brother died at birth, it kind of makes you a little curious. I made my own mind up.”

 

“Can I-- would it bother you to tell me what deal you made?”

 

“Oh, that’s easy,” he said with a sad laugh. “I gave up most of my eyesight for someone who could love me. I got Charlie.”

 

“What?”

 

“I didn’t know then what I’d be giving up; I left that part of the deal open. You know what I used to do, before? I was a photographer. I was going to be a big newspaper photographer in New York. Then when I turned twenty I decided that I could certainly get that on my own, but love? Love was uncertain, unknowable, and I asked for that. So I lost most of my eyesight and my photography and I got Charlie instead. That’s how it works, Jacqueline. You won’t be able to win. No matter how well you think you’ll choose, or try to stipulate the boundaries, the Beast will always find a way to turn that on you. But I’ll help you, if you want. If you still want my help, knowing my story.”

 

Jacqueline finished her tea decisively. “I’m going to need you to tell me everything.”

 

For parents, they mostly lost a child, and if they hadn’t grown up in the town, it was a sudden thing, their child taken from them mid-childhood. If they were second generation or more, the child was usually taken at birth, which, while it was still terrible, made it a little easier. But they had been warned, so they knew what would happen. The Franklins were one such couple-- they had grown up in town, and knew having Hillary was a risk, but they wanted the inn to succeed. Anne Marie decided to give up running-- before college she was not only a singer, but a fantastic long-distance runner-- and she became plump and completely unrecognizable, and her high school boyfriend dumped her because he “didn’t want to date a cow.” Christian gave up his family back in Colombia for the chance to stay in America and be a pianist. Maureen was 19, and was planning on leaving before her twentieth birthday, and never returning.

 

“That’s the only way to escape?” she asks.

 

“I think the Beast figures that if you survive childhood, you’re safe until you’re an adult. Lots of people do that.” His face darkened. “If they can. The mayor tries to talk them out of it, if she hears someone’s planning on leaving.”

 

“How long has she and her brother run the town?”

 

“Oh, you figured that one out, huh? Good for you. Yeah, she and her brother have always run the town. Not everyone realizes that, though. Only if they go looking for it; mostly people are just unaware, and elections are always tricky things.”

 

“Wide-spread amnesia?”

 

“Selective amnesia. It’s a weird affect.”

 

“And what about Charlie? What did he give up?”

 

Jonathan blushed. “He was called here from Chicago, just for me. He had to give up his life in Chicago, but that’s all. I’ve never really asked him more. We, um, get distracted.”

 

“The mayor won’t help us, that’s for sure,” Jacqueline said, ignoring him for the most part. “Maybe we can get Alex on our side, though. He was the one that warned me, first told me about the legends.”

 

“He might,” Jonathan said doubtfully. “I don’t know if I trust him, though.”

 

“We don’t have to trust him, but we can get information from him. Anything is better than the nothing we currently have! I’ll invite him over for dinner. Or something.”

 

“Or something,” Jonathan echoed.

 

Knowing that she had only two weeks and six days left made her act quickly-- she called up the police department as soon as she found her phone, Jonathan still arguing with her from the kitchen table.

 

“I don’t know that he’ll actually tell you anything worthwhile,” he called as she dialed.

 

“Think of it as spying on the other side,” she said. “Yes, hello, is the Sheriff in?”

 

“One moment, I’ll transfer your call.”

 

“And what if he goes and tattles to the mayor about you?”

 

“I won’t be asking him anything she wouldn’t expect, and she would expect me to do some research-- hey, yes, Sheriff Mills, this is Jacqueline Kimball, I was wondering if you were free for dinner tonight? I have something I’d like to discuss with you. Great. Whenever. Seven? Cool. See you then. Bye.” She hung up. “Anyway, who was it that said ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’? Machiavelli? I can’t exactly have the fucking Beast or whatever over for dinner, and Captain Gilbert is long gone, so this is the next best thing, really.”

 

“I don’t trust him,” he groused. “He got you into this mess to begin with.”

 

“No, I got myself into this mess. I tried to do something selfish and come here to start over, and now look where it’s got me. Now I’ve got to try to find the answer before I have to get someone else hurt or maimed or whatever.”

 

“It won’t work. I’m telling you, if you think of it, it’s been done before. It’s been tried before, and the Beast always comes out ahead.”

 

“I’ve got to at least try. Are you done convincing me? I’ll drive you back to town.”

 

“Thanks,” he said ungratefully.

 

* * *

 

 

Alex showed up late, wearing tight jeans, his sheriff’s badge pinned to sparkle on the lapel of his long black coat. Underneath his coat he wore a grey vest overtop a blue collared shirt and a wine-red tie. He was really ridiculously good-looking, clean-shaven and Nordic where Graham (she dragged her thoughts from that direction really quick) was scruffy and disreputable and shaggy. Greyhound vs. curr. And as far as she knew, Alex had never tried to sell her out. Not completely.

 

She’d made vegetable stew and homemade cornbread, and found a crusty jar of homemade apple butter in a cabinet for spreading, and uncorked a bottle of wine which she’d mulled. She was well-aware of what this looked like: she knew she was attractive, and he was attractive, and it was a dark winter’s evening and she’d cooked for him, and they were all alone together; but she was on a mission, and honestly, she’d break his face if he tried anything. She hoped he wouldn’t. She hoped he understood what ace meant. She’d hate to break his beautiful face.

 

For her own part, she was wearing comfortable sweat pants, fuzzy socks, and a shapeless turtleneck sweater. No point in leading him on, and plus she liked to be comfy.

 

“Thanks for inviting me over, though I have a feeling it’s not for what women in this town-- and some men-- usually have me over for. Man, that smells good!” He cracked open the oven and peered inside.

 

“Get out of there,” she said, smacking his hand. “Here, keep yourself occupied.” She handed him a glass of the mulled wine. “You’re right, I didn’t invite you over here for whatever usual reason. I need to know everything you can tell me about this history of this town. I think you can remember rather a lot.”

 

“You went looking at the library, then?”

 

She nodded.

 

He sighed. “There’s no way around it. I’ve tried. Lana’s tried. Lots of people have tried. It all ends up the same way. I’d hoped you’d go looking before you were trapped, but you’re stuck now, and the only thing to do is make it better for you. Best for you.”

 

“That’s what we’re going to discuss,” she said. The timer on the oven went off and she slid the cornbread out, letting it cool a bit while she ladled stew from the crockpot into bowls. “I mean, you’re, what, immortal or something, right? Maybe you just were looking too closely at the situation.”

 

“I was immortal,” he admitted, watching greedily as she brought the food to the table. “When my family offered my sister and me up, and the Beast took our seal-skins, we became essentially mortal. The Beast keeps us alive for its own purposes. There’s only so much my sister and I will do to risk ourselves. That’s how the Beast keeps us in line. Wow, this is great.”

 

“Fully vegan,” she said, stirring her own bowl. She watched as he slathered a slice of cornbread with apple butter and bit into it. “What can you tell me? What do you want to tell me?”

 

He took one more bite of stew, swallowed, and then settled back in his chair. “What do you want to know? I’ll let you know if you ask something I can’t answer.”

 

So she just asked him, and he answered. In fact, once she got him talking, it was hard to get him to stop. Only a few people each generation were aware enough to recognize him for what he was, but mostly everyone just treated him like the sheriff-- aloof, apart, authority to be respected, not to be friends with. To be fair, he admitted he didn’t always try to change their minds: he’d get attached, and then they’d die eventually, and he’d still be the same. He tried too too many times to have a normal life, and it just got tiring, and too sad.

 

“There’s always a price,” he said. It was his constant refrain.

 

“What about your family?”

 

“The Seilchidh,” he said. “They hardly come around any more. It’s too dangerous to leave the oceans for long, and they’re too afraid they might see my sister or me. I have to admit that if I saw the opportunity, I would make them as unhappy as they made us.”

 

“What would you do?”

 

“Why do you think we patrol the beaches?” he asked. “Not only because someone over that way might need help, but also because that’s where my old family would appear, and hide their seal-skins somewhere near the water’s edge. I’ve never caught one, but I keep hoping I might. If I could just get a hand on their skin! I could return to the ocean again. Maybe. I don’t know. I hope. Failing that, I would strand them here, if I could.”

 

“How do you destroy a seal-skin?”

 

“Fire does the trick.”

 

“You said the Beast took your skin. Did it destroy them?”

 

“I don’t remember. My family did it while my sister and I were sleeping one day, and when we woke up, we were alone on the beach, stranded. The Beast had already come and left, and then Captain Gilbert took us in. My family told us when we were little cubs that losing our skins was like being burnt by a thousand suns, that we would feel it, so maybe the Beast didn’t destroy them completely, but It hid them, somewhere, and we’ve tried looking. We’ve tried for over two hundred years.”

 

She sat in silence for a moment. He took the opportunity to pour them both more wine. She was starting to become a little fuzzy-- they had nearly finished the pitcher.

 

“Even if I could use their skins,” he added gloomily, “the Beast would probably find a way to keep us here anyway. There’s no escape, not once you know.”

 

“Has anyone ever tried to...make a different deal with the Beast? Rewrite the Accords?”

 

He stared at her. “No. No one’s ever wanted to. Would you want to meet the eldritch terror that’s been terrorizing the world since before history?”

 

“Not really, but I’d rather do that then just offer up one of my family. Are you serious? No one’s ever thought of that?”

 

“I would tell you if they had, trust me; but no. Never.”

 

“No offense, but people are really fucking stupid.”

 

Alex toasted her with his glass. “I won’t disagree with that. You got anything else to drink?”

 

She eyed him. “You do know you aren’t getting into my pants no matter how drunk you get me, right?”

 

He laughed at her. “I know that. I’m technically ace too, you know-- my first love, my real love, the sea is lost forever to me. After that, everything pales in comparison. I just have a feeling that we’re going to be planning things, and I’d rather do that drunk than sober.”

 

“Help me clear the dishes and I’ll get the whiskey out.”

 

He got very talkative the drunker he got, as though he were just waiting for someone to talk to; considering the last person he got close to was before the Korean War, she could see why he was so willing. She let him drink the most, tipping more whiskey into his jack and gingers when the ice melted. He got drowsy around ten’o’clock and she helped him upstairs to one of the guest rooms, tipping him onto the bed where he lay on his face and mumbled incoherently into the pillows.

 

“What?” she yawned. “What’d you say?”

 

“I hope the plan works,” he mumbled.

 

She hoped she’d written it down, because they were certainly pretty fuzzy in her head at the moment. She left him there, with a glass of water and an aspirin on the bedside table, and a bowl just in case he couldn’t make it to the bathroom in time. Her bed swallowed her up, and she dreamed.

 

She was walking along the beach, in summer again, barefoot. The moon was bright overhead, the waves loud in her ears. It was warm and clammy. After a moment, she noticed the heavy tread of footsteps behind her, nearly in time, but they nearly shook the ground, and the back of her neck was damp not with sweat or humidity, but because something was breathing there. She whirled around, hand reaching up to cover her neck.

 

The thing rose up, up, up toward the sky, a great dark shadow that blocked out everything around it, sucking in the night until it became part of it. It had a horrible mouth, a gash full of dripping teeth and terrible breath, and it was hungry. She fell down before it, stumbling in her haste to back away. And then it spoke:

 

“YOU CANNOT ESCAPE,” it said. It didn’t shout; it didn’t need to. Its voice came up from the very earth in shattering tones and rumbles. She felt it in her bones, inside her head, where it made her teeth ache. “MANY HAVE TRIED. NONE HAVE ESCAPED. YOU CANNOT ESCAPE.”

 

“I don’t want to escape,” she said, tossing her head to get her hair from her eyes. “I want to meet with you. I think it’s time for a new Accord.”

 

It _breathed_. Its silence was nearly more terrible than its talk. Eventually it said: “YOU KNOW WHERE I CAN BE FOUND.” Then it rushed at her. She closed her eyes and screamed-- and woke up. Her heart was pounding, and it was just after three in the morning. She turned on all lights in her room before she climbed back into bed and fell asleep again, and this time she’d didn’t dream.

 

* * *

 

An extremely hungover Alex stumbled downstairs about noon. Jacqueline was making lunch-- portabello mushroom subs.

 

“Apparently being almost-immortal doesn’t help with hangovers,” Jacqueline commented. “Welcome back to consciousness.”

 

“How much whiskey did I drink?” he asked. “Wait, no, don’t tell me, I know the answer. Obviously too much.”

 

Jacqueline laughed. “I hope you didn’t have a shift or anything this morning. I tried to wake you a couple of times, but you wouldn’t budge.”

 

“They can function without me. Is that lunch?” He perked up when he saw the plates.

 

“Do you not eat at home?” she asked.

 

“Oh, I do. But it’s nice to have someone else cook, and you cook very well.”

 

“Flattery will only get you so far,” she said. “Here-- have a sub.” She waited until he’d taken a bite, then added, “I spoke to the Beast last night in my dreams.”

 

Once he’d finished choking, he said, “You did that on purpose. You didn’t-- insult it, or yell at it, did you? Make it mad? Antagonize it?”

 

“No. I said I wanted to make a new Accord, like we decided. It said I knew where to find it. Do I? The beach, right?”

 

“Probably.” He sucked at his teeth. “Did it give you-- a time frame? Or deadline?”

 

“I’m guessing the deadline your sister already gave me is still the one.”

 

“Well, don’t do anything rash. And certainly don’t act while you’re hungover. You’re hungover too, right?”


	5. Chapter Five

Everything was going great (or at least somewhat controlled, for dealing with supernatural beings that wanted to in essence eat you alive) until she decided to walk Alex back to his car and saw another car pulling in. Stomping through the snow, she waved to the newcomers and started towards them only to stop in shock when she recognized the guests through the windshield: it was her papi, driving, her mami, in the passenger’s seat, and Isabelle and Laurell were waving frantically from the backseat.

 

“Shit,” she said.

 

“Expecting guests?” Alex asked, scraping snow and ice from his police cruiser.

 

“No, everyone canceled. This is my family. Apparently they came from Thanksgiving.”

 

“Jacqueline, this is really not a good time for people you love to be here,” Alex said ungently.

 

“I know, I know,” she hissed back, before pasting on a smile when Isabelle hurled herself out of the car and hit her with a hug that contained all the force of a runaway train.

 

“Surprise! _SURPRISE_!” Isabelle was shouting. “We decided to surprise you! Who’s that? He’s cute!”

 

“Isabelle, shh,” Jacqueline said, wincing. “That’s my ear. Um, listen, I’ll need you to convince mami and papi to go, and I’ll explain when I can but--”

 

“Jackie, _it’s so good to see you, baby! Come give your mama a hug_!” her mami exploded in Spanish.

 

“You are _so weird_ ,” Isabelle whispered as Jacqueline trudged to greet her parents and then Laurell, who looked even smaller than usual swallowed up in a huge puffy purple coat.

 

“We checked online and saw that you didn’t have any reservations this week, which is strange for Thanksgiving, but we all decided to come and stay with you! We’ll pay, of course, and we want the full tourist experience!” her papi said. “Now, let us inside, it’s freezing, I’ve never seen so much snow before Thanksgiving! Oh, hello, who’s your friend? Nice to meet you, I’m Jorge Garcia, Jacqueline’s father.”

 

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Alex said, shaking her father’s hand. “I’m Alex Mills, the town sheriff.”

 

“ _Jackie_!” her mother exclaimed. “What did you do?”

 

“ _Maaaa_!”

 

“Oh, no, she was only answering a few questions-- we’ve had a couple of missing kids lately, and they help out sometimes at the Hyacinth House’s parties, and I thought she might know something about where they’d run off to,” the sheriff lied smoothly. “Please, I hope you enjoy your stay here in Port Gilbert, but you’ll have to excuse me. Jacqueline, I’ll keep you updated.” He escaped into his car and got to drive away. Jacqueline tried not to wish she were going with him, but she wished her family was anywhere else. They were unloading luggage from the car and taking it up to the inn, admiring the inn and the landscape and everything, oh, this was _awful_.

 

She put her parents in the master bedroom, turned into a bridal suite; her sister and Laurell she stuck up in the attic, for the views and the promise that they were the warmest places in the inn. She offered to let them stay with her, but they refused-- “We’ll stay here, and we’ll pay for each room,” her papi said, and there was no convincing them otherwise. It was fixed when he went online and booked the rooms officially. Then they all took a nap while Jacqueline vacuumed the honeymoon house-- it was the day for it-- and then hid her notes in a safe place.

 

She texted Jonathan: “My family’s here, this is a BIG PROBLEM, how can I get rid of them?”

 

He responded almost immediately: “Charlie and I will help, come to the Diner for dinner?”

 

So they had dinner plans. When her family (and best friend!) woke from their short nap, she informed them she was taking them out for dinner, to meet a couple of friends.

 

“Ooh, who?” Laurell asked.

 

“Jonathan and his boyfriend Charlie.”

 

Isabelle and Laurell, who knew what had happened just a few days prior, shot her a questioning look, but thankfully they didn’t say anything in front of her parents. While mami and papi unpacked and showered, Laurell and Isabelle accompanied Jacqueline back to her house for some tea and to get some updated gossip.

 

“We’re not fighting anymore,” she told them while the kettle boiled. “He came and apologized. He said he overreacted.”

 

“Why did he act like that in the first place?” Laurell wanted to know. “Why was it such a big deal to him that you stay in the closet?”

 

And here it was: the problem. Jacqueline had no idea how much she should reveal to them, if it would help or hinder her plans, and if telling them would make them fall subject to the same rules she was facing. “I...plead the fifth?” she said eventually. “When I get a chance to run a few questions by someone, then I can either tell you everything or...not. I can’t tell you if it’s going to put you in danger.”

 

“Danger? Why?”

 

“Oooh, I love intrigue!” Isabelle said, eyes wide with humor. “Don’t worry, Laurell, we’ll find out even if she doesn’t tell us.”

 

“Izzy, I’m _serious_. That’s what got me into this mess.” Jacqueline slammed several tins of tea out onto the counter. “Come choose what you want.”

 

“Wait-- you mean the whole story about the town and the thing and the selkies is _true_?!”

 

“Shit,” Jacqueline said, and then she had to go ahead and tell them what had happened, just to keep them from running off to warn her mami and papi. “That’s why I really need you both to convince my mom and dad to leave, and you have to go too,” she finished.

 

“You have to come too!” Laurell demanded.

 

“Yeah, I don’t think you can stay here any longer. These people are weird,” Isabelle said.

 

“I can’t. I can’t leave. I tried, and it would have made me crash my car. If it senses me trying to leave, I guess it knows and stops me.”

 

“We’ll just kidnap you,” Isabelle suggested.

 

Jacqueline shook her head. “I don’t think that would work either, to be honest. I think the Beast would still know, and try to keep me here.”

 

“Well, you can’t just give yourself up! Or one of us. You won’t give up one of us, right?”

 

“Don’t be stupid, Izzy! Of course I wouldn’t. I’m going to make a new deal with it.”

 

“Is that safe? I don’t know,” Laurell said. “It might try to trick you.”

 

“I’ll run it by Sheriff Mills first.”

 

“Sheriff Mills,” Isabelle said dreamily. “Sheriff Mills the Selkie. And I want to meet your other beau, Graham, even though he’s an asshole.”

 

“I don’t ever want to see him again. He’s so selfish! He couldn’t’ve just kept his mouth shut, noooo.”

 

Papi rapped on the door. “Come on, kids! Time to go to dinner! We’re hungry. Meet you in the car.”

 

“And Jonathan and Charlie will help too,” Jacqueline said, sticking their cups in the sink while her friend and sister put their boots and coats on. “It’ll be alright, you’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So there she was, trying to hide the scorchmarks on the carpet by putting her laundry basket overtop, and Isabelle’s giggling and laughing so that we knew something was up. Subtlety is not my girls’ middle name...”

 

Jonathan and Charlie were giggling, and Jacqueline and Isabelle were groaning and hiding their faces behind their napkins, hissing for their dad to stop embarrassing, come on...

 

“How often do I have the chance to embarrass my girls altogether in front of Jacqueline’s new friends?” he asked. “I wouldn’t be a good father if I didn’t.”

 

“I am all for this,” Jonathan said, elbows propped on the table, chin cupped in one hand; “I can always use embarrassing stories for my show!”

 

“ _No_ ,” Jacqueline growled, “ _absolutely_ not! I forbid it! I will ban you from movie night for a year, and I was planning on doing a musicals run.”

 

“You should do a Saturday morning cartoon series,” Isabelle suggested.

 

“I don’t run a day care, though,” Jacqueline complained. “Maybe when it gets warm again, though? So the kids can run around if they want, outside, and not tear up the inn.”

 

“Sunday tea and Easter egg hunt!” her Mami put in.

 

While everyone exclaimed over the ideas, Jacqueline caught Charlie’s eye, who nodded. He made a big show of yawning and stretching. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I need to get some sleep before my shift tomorrow. Mrs. Garcia, you’re a nurse; would you like to come for a tour tomorrow? My shift ends at 10 am. Why don’t you all come? There’s some excellent local art, Laurell, in the wings, and I’m sure some of the kids would love to hear your poetry, Mr. Garcia.”

 

“I’m sleeping in,” Isabelle said. “No, thanks.”

 

“If-- if Jacqueline doesn’t need help at the inn, sure,” Laurell said quietly.

 

“I’d love to see the hospital, and my husband would come too,” Mrs. Garcia said.

 

Good, and then Jacqueline and Jonathan would have a chance to plan, and hopefully the Sheriff would be available too.

 

After dinner, which Mr. Garcia paid for (“No, no, don’t argue with me, I’m married to a nurse, I never get to win an argument, and I’m going to win this one!”), they returned to the inn, and Laurell and Isabelle got into their pajamas and joined Jacqueline for a movie and popcorn.

 

“Do you want me to come plan with you tomorrow?” Laurell asked Jacqueline.

 

“I’m coming along,” Isabelle said, not even stopping shoveling popcorn into her face. “You can’t stop me.”

 

Jacqueline rolled her eyes. “I couldn’t even try. You’re too stubborn. You promise to chill and let us talk, though?”

 

“Duh.”

 

“You can come if you want, Laurell,” Jacqueline told her friend. “I had asked Charlie to keep you out of the way, all of you, but, well, you can’t tell Isabelle anything.”

 

“ _Damn_ straight,” Isabelle said. “Now hush, I want to watch Furiosa kick these guys butts.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I love your apartment!” Isabelle exclaimed when Jonathan let them in the next morning. “Oh, you guys are so cute!” She was examining a picture on the wall of Jonathan and Charlie.

 

“Thank you!” Jonathan said. “Come on in, Alex is already here.”

 

“ _Sheriff Alex, oooooh_!”

 

“Sorry, she can be kind of too happy in the morning sometimes,” Jacqueline said. “I don’t know why, she should be all jet-lagged as hell.”

 

“ _Coffee_!” Isabelle sang out. “Good morning, Sheriff!”

 

The Sheriff was seated in the living room already, mug of tea by his elbow. He was wearing a comfortable grey pullover and dark grey pants, hair perfectly combed. “I’m off-duty today,” he said. “Please, call me Alex.”

 

“Alex,” Jonathan warned, “now, don’t you go leading her on. Are you even eighteen yet, sweetheart?”

 

Isabelle flounced down with a roll of her eyes. “I’m nineteen, and it’s not leading on because I’m leaving in a week. Anyway, I wouldn’t want to complicate things for Jackie.”

 

“Thanks, Izzy! You’re so sweet to me.”

 

“Come on, Jacqueline, I bought some special vegan shit just for you, you should come try it.” Jonathan and Jacqueline made some vegan hot chocolate and then joined the other two in the living room. The Sheriff and Isabelle were talking excitedly about-- of all things-- soccer. Apparently Alex was a fan as well.

 

“Now you’ve done it,” Jacqueline told Alex. “You’ll never get her to leave you now.”

 

“Got to,” Isabelle said gloomily. “I have finals.”

 

“He’s too old for you, you know.”

 

“I am sitting right here,” Alex said.

 

“I know,” Isabelle said, just as gloomily. “He’s like at least three hundred years older than me.”

 

“Excuse me?” Alex sputtered, choking on a mouthful of tea. “What did you tell her?”

 

“Sorry, I should have warned you that she knows everything,” Jacqueline said, unrepentant. “She guessed most of it.”

 

“I still think it’s ridiculous, but whatever,” Isabelle said. “Go ahead, talk amongst yourselves, you all know better than me, go on.” She grabbed the mug of hot chocolate Jacqueline offered and sat back, trying to look innocent.

 

“So what’s the plan?” Jonathan asked.

 

Jacqueline took a deep breath. “The Beast wants to meet with me. It knows I want to make a new contact with It. I just don’t know what we should ask for.”

 

“I know what I want,” Alex said immediately. “I want my skin back, and so does Lara.”

 

“You didn’t tell her about this, did you?” Jonathan asked, alarmed.

 

“Of course not. I’m tired and sad, not stupid. But I want my skin back, and I know Lara does too.”

 

“Okay,” Jacqueline said. She pulled a notepad out of her cross-body bag and flipped it open to a blank page. With the attached pen, she wrote: “1: Get Mills’ skins back.”

 

“Obviously you’ll want to be exempt from any sort of sacrifice,” Jonathan suggested.

 

“You’re going about this all wrong,” Isabelle said. They looked at her. She sighed. “Instead of planning out the minutia first, you should think of the big picture. This Beast rules over this area of land; why? Why only here?”

 

“That’s a good point,” Jacqueline said. “Do you know the reason, Alex?”

 

Alex shrugged. “No. The local tribes never knew, and if Captain Gilbert knew, he never said. Maybe it thinks it’s especially beautiful here?”

 

“What if It’s here only because It knows It’ll get something?” Jonathan said slowly. “The tribes knew to avoid the place, and sent sacrifices routinely to appease It; then when Captain Gilbert came, they made a deal with It. What if we refused to let It remain here?”

 

“The Beast does what It pleases, Jonathan!” Alex said. “You can’t tell It anything!”

 

“I don’t mean like that! Look: instead of asking for something in return, what if we ask It to leave? Did anyone ever try that? We’ll give It permission to go, and the only things we’ll ask in return...”

 

“For It to stop demanding sacrifices, for It to stop helping the town prosper, and for It to give up terrorizing us,” Jacqueline said. “We refuse to keep working with It. The world’s big enough now, surely It can feed on the random chaos of the rest of humanity, and the best part about that is, no one will ask anything in return. It wins!”

 

“Sounds too good to be true,” Alex said. “What about Lara and me?”

 

“If It’s not being treated here, It has no need of you two anymore to keep control of the human aspect of the town. You can get your skins back!” Jacqueline said, getting excited now. “It might work! Do you think so? I think it could work!”

 

“So we give It the world, and ask for freedom in return?” Jonathan said.

 

“You need a backup plan, just in case,” Isabelle put in.

 

That stumped them. Eventually, Jacqueline said, “I’ll do some research. Maybe there’s a way we can force It out of town, if we can’t get It to leave on Its own?”

 

“After all,” Alex said, “why would It want to hunt for prey or search for food when we feed It just well right here?”

 

“Bigger hunting pool,” Isabelle suggested.

 

“I’ll just feel better when you and mami and papi and Laurell are gone back to the other side of the country,” Jacqueline said.

 

“When are you leaving?” Alex asked.

 

“Late next Thursday night. It was cheaper than trying to leave on Friday morning,” Isabelle said.

 

“I’ll do my best to keep my sister unaware of your existence until then, but do your best to keep a low profile. Probably wouldn’t go to church on Sunday,” Alex advised. He finished his tea. “Then when you’re gone, we’ll plan to meet with the Beast. Enjoy the holiday, Jacqueline!” he added brightly.

 

“I take back every not-nice thing I thought about you,” Isabelle said admiringly. “You’re mean, and it’s awesome.”

  

* * *

 

 

So that’s how the week passed. On Saturday morning, Jacqueline made sure that Graham didn’t meet or notice her family when he dropped off the usual tea order. It was awkward; they hardly said more than three words to each other, only, “Good morning,” and “Here’s the order,” and, “Thank you, see you next week, have a good holiday.” Then thankfully he left and he wasn’t the wiser about her situation. Alex texted her when he could to warn her where the Mayor was planning on appearing that day, and she made sure to avoid those places. She showed her family all her favorite haunts-- from the car mostly. Obviously she couldn’t take them onto the beach-- where she was supposed to meet the Beast at some point-- and most of the other places were just too much of a hassle to fight through the cold to see.

 

Sunday was almost a problem-- Mrs. Garcia was faithfully religious, and attended church every Sunday when she didn’t have to work. Jacqueline begged Anna Marie and Christian to help, and though both had church jobs, they took a sick day, claiming they had the flu and strep respectively, and went over to the inn and had brunch with the family followed by hymns in the living room.

 

“Yeah,” Jacqueline told her mami, “they can’t come to Spares-Giving, so I want them to come meet you and Papi and Isabelle and Laurell. More French toast?”

 

Everyone groaned and clutched their stomaches: too full.

 

“I have to sing after this,” Anna Marie said morosely pushing around a drenched piece on her plate, then sighed and ate it anyway.

 

In honor of the season, they did “We Gather Together,” which happened to be Laurell’s favorite, and “In the Bleak Midwinter” for Christian, and then Anna Marie sang a new composition of hers, a setting of “Fields of Gold are Glowing.”

 

“Fields of gold are glowing

’Neath the autumn rays,

Now the springtide sowing,

All its fruit displays;

Every hill rejoices,

Fields with gladness ring,

Lifting up their voices,

Now the valleys sing,

Lifting up their voices,

Now the valleys sing.

 

“In the dark earth sleeping,

Long the seed hath lain;

Joyful now the reaping,

Fair the garnered grain.

As the gold we gather

Of Thine harvest gift,

Now to Thee, our Father,

Thankful hearts we lift;

Now to Thee, our Father,

Thankful hearts we lift."

 

Tea that afternoon was canceled, too many people were away on vacation, so Jacqueline served her family tea and snacks and set up the projector and sheet and they watched movies all afternoon; and they continued that theme as the snow continued to fall outside and temperatures dropped.

 

“I hope we’ll be able to get back to the airport in Bangor safely on Thursday,” Papi mused, watching the snow fall outside in the back gardens on Tuesday afternoon.

 

“What time is your flight?”

 

“Not till 10 PM. I figure if we have lunch around noon and leave by three, it’ll give us plenty of time in case the roads are bad. Can we do that? I hate to eat and run, you know that...”

 

“No worries, Papi. I’d rather you didn’t have to rush back to the city.”

 

“Isn’t it strange that no one else wanted to stay here for Thanksgiving?” Mami said. “I would have thought that everyone would have been clamoring. I’m sorry, querido. After you planned such a fun time too.”

 

“Yeah, vegan Thanksgiving, woo-hoo,” Isabelle said from the couch where she was surfing on her phone. “No turkey.”

 

“I won’t starve you,” Jacqueline retorted, “so just hush. And I won’t feed you anything nasty either,” she added, when Isabelle opened her mouth.

 

“You made lovely Thanksgivings for us in college,” Laurell said. “Jack was gluten free that one year, and you made gluten-free and vegan macaroni and cheese, remember? It was amazing!”

 

“Ew,” Isabelle said, wrinkling her nose.

 

“You’ll see,” Laurell said. “Are you making mac and cheese, Jacqueline?”

 

“You’ll just have to wait and see!” Jacqueline said.

 

“How can you have macaroni and cheese without either macaroni or cheese?” Isabelle complained.

 

“I won’t feed you anything gross, so just hush, or I’ll make you a peanut butter and jelly and that’s all.”

 

“She’s _so mean_ to me,” Isabelle sniffed. “Mami! Jacqueline’s being mean to me!”

 

“Someone just pulled in!” Papi called from the dining room where he’d moved. “We have more guests for Thanksgiving!”

 

Jacqueline frowned. “No one sent in any reservations.”

 

“You have the space,” Laurell pointed out. “The more the merrier, anyway.”

 

“I’ll go greet them,” Jacqueline sighed, and got up to put her boots on. She’d optimistically shoveled the path each day just in case, but this was the first chance she’d had to really need to use it; she didn’t get any questioning visitors either. In fact, they hadn’t been able to go out all day, and she was a little annoyed that the library was actually closed all week in preparation for Thanksgiving so she hadn’t been able to do any more research there, and the internet was useless. The only new thing it suggested was the story of Rumplestiltskin-- where finding the true name of the thing made it forfeit the deal. She’d discussed it with Isabelle and Laurell late Monday night, and they had been unable to think of any ways to discover the Beast’s true name-- the local Native American tribes were long scattered, and the minutes themselves didn’t mention anything about that, and actually avoided saying anything about the Beast unless it absolutely had to. Which made for scarier reading, Isabelle the Literature major pointed out.

 

In any case, Jacqueline was seriously annoyed when those guests came, and she hoped they would be discreet and not drop hints about her family around town. She’d just laced her boots up when they knocked at the door and she gave up. She heard Papi open the door and start to welcome them, but he stopped. She hurried up, worried.

 

Robert Sr. and Martha Kimball stood awkwardly in the doorway holding their suitcases. Robert Sr. did look older and tired, Jacqueline noted with a small corner of her brain that wasn’t swallowed in shock.

 

“Your guests are letting in the cold!” Isabelle called angrily from the living room.

 

“Come on in” Jacqueline said, and Papi swung the door wider and they came in, stamping their boots and, in Mrs. Kimball’s case, shaking out her long skirt. “Come to stay at the Hyacinth House for Thanksgiving?”

 

“We thought we could use a vacation,” Robert Sr. said. “Is there room for us? We checked online and saw there would be, but maybe that’s changed since we last checked.”

 

Jacqueline crossed her arms. “There’s room. Any preferences where you’d like to stay?”

 

“Anywhere that’s open is good,” Robert said.

 

Jacqueline sighed. “I’ll show you to your room,” she said at last, and showed them to the Garden Room and left them there to freshen up. “Did you know they were coming?” she hissed at her parents.

 

“We didn’t!” her Papi said.

 

“We wouldn’t tell them the time of day,” her Mami said.

 

“Laurell?” Jacqueline demanded.

 

“I didn’t know a thing, I swear. You’re going to let them stay?”

 

“I’ve got to, I guess. I could use the income, and maybe they came to make amends. I never heard from them after I sent that email, and maybe they heard the radio show I did...” Jacqueline _whooshed_ out a breath. “Please help me, okay?”

 

It was _so_ awkward. Laurell and Isabelle disappeared up to their rooms, and Papi went to take a nap; Jacqueline and her mother started making pie crusts for Thursday, while the Kimballs sat primly in the living room and mostly sat in silence: they weren’t even reading anything. When the crusts and their filling (a cranberry-ginger-pear crumble, and a blue-berry pie with frozen Maine blueberries she’d picked herself earlier that year) were waiting in the fridge to go into the oven on Thursday morning, Jacqueline sent her mami upstairs and washed her hands slowly at the sink. Procrastinating done, she forced herself into the living room.

 

“So,” she said, perching on the arm of the sofa. “You came to visit Port Gilbert. Was there anything in particular you came to see? I have a lot of information for you, if you tell me what you’d like to do. Of course, since it’s Thanksgiving week and so snow, a lot of the usual things are closed...”

 

“We came to see you,” Robert Sr. said.

 

“I’m so sorry for what I said,” Jacqueline said. She didn’t dare look at either of them; she stared directly at the floor. “You had just lost your son, and it was a very unkind thing to say, and I’m sorry I left like I did, without an apology.”

 

“And we owe you an apology as well,” Robert Sr. said. “We finally understand what you did for Robert, and while we are unhappy that Robert didn’t feel like he could be open and truthful with us, we appreciate that you tried to do what was best for him. What he wanted. And we apologize for our unkind comments after he died. Talking about what might or could have been never does any good. And we understand that you were too angry and upset to apologize right then. Your email was beautiful, and the fact that you apologized to the whole town meant a lot to us. We wanted to come and apologize to you in person, and Thanksgiving seemed like as good a time as any. We’ll be leaving Friday morning, so we won’t be bothering you too much longer; but I want you to know that I think of you as one of my own daughters, and you’re always welcome in my home.”

 

“T-thank you,” Jacqueline managed, touched. “You aren’t bothering me. You could never bother me. I’m glad you came to visit the Hyacinth House, since I put most of the money Robert left me into it, and I’d love to get your opinion.”

 

“We’ve been following your business exploits online,” Robert said eagerly. “You’ve been doing some good things here. We liked the Slam nights especially; that’s why we came today, because we hoped to perform for it.”

 

“Oh, no. Well, we aren’t having one night because everyone’s with their families this week. You’re welcome to play-- and sing, Mrs. Kimball-- for us, anyway, anytime.”

 

“Well, I’ve spoken my peace,” Robert said, glancing at Mrs. Kimball, who that whole time had been staring off into the distance, lips pursed and white with tension. She didn’t say anything. “Come on, ma,” he said at last. “Let’s go for a walk.” Ten minutes later they were gone, walking towards town through the snow. Jacqueline collapsed on the bed in Laurell’s room while Laurell did her fingernails and Isabelle did her toes.

 

“She didn’t even _look_ at me,” Jacqueline said. “I hate her. I’m glad Robert Sr. doesn’t think I’m terrible, because he was always so nice to me. But Martha! Ugh! I don’t know what I can do.”

 

“Nothing,” Isabelle said. “She’s just determined to be mean and ornery. Let her be.”

 

“Thanksgiving’s going to be really fun,” Jacqueline mumbled.

 

* * *

 

 

On Wednesday, Jacqueline discovered that she’d forgotten to get those extra pecans for the sweet potatoes and had to go into town. Everyone was pretty much stir-crazy by then, so Jacqueline texted Alex to see if going to the Trader Joe’s at least would be safe. He said it would, so they went to town together, driving ten miles an hour the entire way. The Kimballs had gone somewhere that morning after breakfast; Martha looked constipated and angry and Robert had looked just resigned, so Jacqueline hadn’t wanted to investigate too closely.

 

Of course the store was a zoo since it was the day before Thanksgiving. Jacqueline warned her family that she would be as quick and in and out as she could, and not to expect to stay too long. She had to get pecans, an extra can of coconut milk just in case, and a few more carrots. And anything else that might catch her eye, of course. (She was really bad lately about picking up random things that she didn’t know she needed until she saw it.)

 

She was standing in line checking out when Graham spotted her. Isabelle was standing there beside her, and Jacqueline noticed him after he’d noticed her, because she saw an awful calculating expression drop from his face a moment before he went blank and headed their way.

 

“Isabelle, go somewhere else,” she said urgently. “Graham’s coming this way. Go!”

 

Isabelle left without a complaint. It wasn’t soon enough, because Graham asked Jacqueline, “Was that your sister? I didn’t know they’d come to town. Does that mean you’ve made a decision?”

 

“That’s none of your business,” she said shortly. “I’m not talking with you.”

 

“Who’s in town with you? Just your sister? I saw more cars outside the inn.”

 

“You’ve been spying on me? You’re an asshole, and I don’t want to discuss it with you.” She placed her groceries on the counter so the harassed clerk could start ringing them up. Graham was still standing there. “ _Go away_ ,” she growled. “It’s not any of your business.”

 

“If you can’t make the decision, I can help,” he said. “I’m not risking my happiness for you, sorry.”

 

“If you come near my family, I will hunt you down and end you,” she said, staring him down.

 

He didn’t say another word, just whirled around and strolled off. Jacqueline watched him go, glad that her family was leaving the next afternoon. The sooner they left, the better.

 

* * *

 

 

Thanksgiving morning started off early with a light breakfast, since they were eating around noon. Jacqueline started the crock pot with potato cubes and vegetable broth for easy crock-pot potatoes, and made the homemade cranberry sauce (whole cranberries, water, sugar, cinnamon and ginger, boiled and then smashed with a potato smasher) so that it would have a chance to chill in the fridge in time for eating. Then she roasted the sweet potatoes and scooped out the insides for twice-baked potatoes, adding coconut milk, curry powder, chopped spinach, and chickpeas for protein, as well as the pecans. She chopped the broccoli and spread it in the baking pan to slip in later. She baked the pies. She churned the ice cream-- just plain vanilla. The stuffing was just plain store-bought stove-top stuffing, and she went ahead and made that, and got the brown sugar carrots ready to go as well. The rolls were just going to be store-bought Crescent rolls, because she just didn’t feel like doing her own dough.

 

Her parents and Isabelle decided to take a walk about ten in the morning, following off in the trail the Kimballs had made a little earlier. Laurell helped Jacqueline set the table. Everything was nearly ready, and they still weren’t back, when Isabelle burst into the room, cheeks red with exertion and eyes streaming with tears.

 

“I ran all the way back,” she gasped. “Mami and Papi went ahead with Mr. Kimball-- he was so worried, Jackie, I’ve never seen anyone so-- we need to call the police! Someone’s kidnapped Mrs. Kimball!”

 

“Who? What?” Jacqueline asked. Laurell found Jacqueline’s phone and pressed it into her hand. She dialed for the Sheriff’s office while Isabelle went on:

 

“He didn’t know. He said it was someone on a motorcycle-- didn’t you say that shit-head Graham had a motorcycle? We saw him yesterday-- what did he say to you?”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Jacqueline said, and then the answering machine at the police station picked up. Swearing, she tried calling Alex instead. He picked up on the third ring, and she cut him off, saying, “Someone’s kidnapped my mother-in-law, and it might have been Graham.”

 

“You know where he’ll take her,” Alex said. “Keep your family away. We’ll have to do this now. I’m on my way.”

 

“I need you both to stay here,” Jacqueline commanded. “I’m going to get her, and I don’t want you guys near the beach in case-- in case anything happens. I don’t want to have to worry about you.”

 

“But-- Mami and Papi! They’re still out there!” Isabelle cried.

 

“Take the rental and go get them and bring them back here. I’ll take my car and go get Mrs. Kimball. One way or another.”

 

“Jacqueline,” Laurell began, “we--”

 

“I love you both, and tell Mami and Papi I love them too, just in case,” Jacqueline said, her throat tight and aching. There was _no time_. And-- shit, the oven was still on. She slammed it off and ran to get her coat and boots and keys. She had to calm down-- she spun out twice on the way there, and luckily there was no one else on the road, but she wouldn’t get _there_ unless she chilled. So she put on the brake and had a moment to just panic. Then she wiped her eyes and continued on, a little calmer.

 

Alex was waiting for her at the beach parking lot, and Graham’s motorcycle was there too. The wind was picking up, and a terrible mist was rolling in from the sea, making trying to see if Graham had Mrs. Kimball anywhere on the beach impossible.

 

“What’s the plan?” Jacqueline asked.

 

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Alex said. “I figure we’ll have to search for them, and hope we find them before the Beast finds them-- or you.”

 

“And what happens then? I wasn’t ready to do this yet!”

 

“Just keep calm, and remember your offer. Let’s go!” He hurried off into the mist. Jacqueline stomped her foot and then ran after him.

 

It was incredibly cold, and the wind blew right through her coat as though it weren’t there. She called, “Mrs. Kimball? Graham?” She distantly heard Alex doing the same thing, though she couldn’t see him, and eventually she couldn’t hear him either. All she heard were the sounds of the waves, the wind, and the snow crunching atop the frozen sand, and the steps of someone else, something huge, padding behind her. She felt the Beast’s presence, and her steps slowed.

 

“DO YOU WISH TO BARGAIN WITH ME?” It said.

 

She didn’t turn around. “I do?”

 

“WHAT HAVE YOU DECIDED?”

 

“Does it have to be _right_ now?” she asked. “I was really hoping to do it after lunch today.”

 

“YOU TEST MY PATIENCE. MY SEAL-MEN HAVE A SERVANT, WHO HAS OFFERED YOUR KIN. I CAN FEEL YOUR DESPAIR, I CAN TASTE IT. TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT.”

 

Jacqueline finally turned around to face the Beast fully. It was just like her dream: a horrible piece of darkness cut out and made three dimensional, swollen against the writhing mist that covered the beach. It seemed to stretch into infinity, and would swallow the whole world. “I want to make a new deal with you.”

 

“WELL?” It roared, and she flinched back.

 

“We don’t want you to help us anymore,” she said. “The town. It isn’t fair, that you should be so generous.”

 

“YOU WANT ME TO TAKE AS I CHOOSE, THEN? YOUR ANCESTOR DID NOT AGREE.”

 

“No! No. That’s not what I meant. What keeps you here? Why do you have to hunt on these grounds alone? There’s a whole world out there, a whole world full of despair and pain and sorrow and chaos, and the best part is you won’t have to either cause any of it, and you wouldn’t have to give anything back in return!”

 

“YOU WANT MY MERCY. YOU WANT ME TO LEAVE THIS PLACE. I LIKE IT HERE. THESE PEOPLE ARE DELICIOUS.”

 

“But there’s so much else for you! There’s a whole world of people waiting for you to feed off them, and you wouldn’t have to do anything!”

 

“I WOULD HAVE TO LEAVE.”

 

“I forfeit anything from you,” she screamed desperately. “Please! If you would only go look--”

 

“I CAN HAVE YOU, IF YOU ARE WRONG?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“WHAT ARE YOUR TERMS, IF I LEAVE? YOU HUMANS ALWAYS WANT MORE.”

 

“If you leave, the original deals you made with the town remain. You can’t take anything back! And you wouldn’t need your-- what did you call them? Your seal-men. You should give them back their skins, since you won’t need them.”

 

“I LOSE MY HUNTING-GROUNDS AND MY SERVANTS. I WANT MORE, IF YOU ARE WRONG.”

 

“What else do you want?” she asked. “You can have me, for forever. I can’t give you anyone.”

 

“NOT EVEN YOUR KIN THAT CAME HERE? SHE WAITS. I COULD TAKE HER SO EASILY.”

 

“Not even her,” Jacqueline said. “Even though she probably deserves it. I refuse.”

 

The shadow seemed to reach out and sniff at her. She gritted her teeth and stood her ground. It sank back eventually, settling into Itself.

 

“WE HAVE A DEAL. I WILL RETURN BY THE NEW MOON, AND THEN YOU WILL HAVE MY ANSWER.” It rushed overtop her, and she yelled and threw an arm over her face and sank to her knees, but It passed overhead harmlessly. She gradually came back to herself, the sounds of the ocean and the wind and of people calling for her filtering in as her shock faded.

 

“JACQUELINE!” the voices called. “WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU OKAY?”

 

“I’m fine!” she squeaked, then cleared her throat and tried again: “I’M FINE!”

 

Alex came crunching through the snow at a run. “Are you okay?” he asked, short of breath. “I found them. They’re both okay; I’ve put Graham under arrest, and your mother-in-law is waiting in your car. She’s absolutely fine, though a bit shaken up. What about you?” He reached out for her, and she allowed him to take her arm. “You’re shaking; what happened? Did you--”

 

“It’s returning at the new moon,” she said, walking with him on knees that felt like rubber bands. “It wanted my mother-in-law, but I refused. If it doesn’t think there’s enough suffering in the world, It gets me.” She tried a smile, but it felt strange on her face. “Forever. But if It agrees, you’ll get your skin back.”

 

He hugged her, and she pressed her face to the cold leather of his coat that warmed quickly beneath her cheek, and they sighed.

 

“New moon’s in three days,” Alex said eventually, letting her go. “You have time to make arrangements. For what it’s worth, even if you fail, you have my admiration and thanks.”

 

She smiled again, and this time she succeeded. “I had to try.” They continued walking through the mists to the parking lot. “What will you do with Graham?”

 

“He did kidnap your mother-in-law. Do you think she’ll press charges?”

 

“Who can say? I’ll ask.”

 

“Well, for now he’ll go to the city lockup, and you can let me know.”

 

“The Kimballs leave tomorrow, so I’ll make sure you know by tonight.” She paused, searching in her pocket for her car keys. “Would you like to come to Thanksgiving lunch? What time is it?”

 

“Not even noon yet.”

 

There was the parking lot. Graham was seated in the back of the police car, fuming. Mrs. Kimball was wiping her face with a Kleenex.

 

“Thanks, but I’ve got dinner with my sister,” Alex said. “I can come by for leftovers tomorrow?” He sounded so hopeful that Jacqueline smiled.

 

“Fine. Thanks for helping me today. And if It comes back and--”

 

“Hey.” He held up a finger. “It’s not over yet. You’ll see. I’ll be over tomorrow.”

 

Jacqueline got into the car with her mother in law. Alex drove off, leaving Graham’s bike sitting in the snow. Jacqueline hoped it rusted.

 

“You came and got me,” Mrs. Kimball said thickly. “Thank you.”

 

Jacqueline rolled her eyes as she started the car. “I couldn’t just let someone kidnap you,” she said.

 

“That man-- he said his name was Graham-- he said he was helping you. He said that he knew out of all your family you would regret giving me up the least. What did he mean?”

 

“That I wouldn’t mind giving you up, or what he was giving you up for?”

 

“I know I wasn’t very kind to you. You just _wouldn’t understand_ , but it wasn’t personal. But you came to get me. Is he crazy? Does he take medication?”

 

Even though Jacqueline had essentially just sacrificed herself for the woman, she felt such a surge of anger that she could only say, as nastily as she could muster, “You just _wouldn’t understand_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Thanksgiving lunch was miserable. The food was good, though the sweet potatoes and the broccoli were slightly overdone, but everyone was just so upset. No one said much, and Jacqueline herself drank most of a bottle of white wine, and thankfully the Kimballs decided to hide in their room for dessert, leaving the Garcias and Laurell to the pies and ice cream and coffee.

 

“Are you safe?” Mami wanted to know.

 

“Yes, mami. Graham was just-- a little confused. He’s in the jail now. I have the sheriff looking out for me.” She scooped up a spoon of blueberry pie. “He’s coming over tomorrow to help me eat some leftovers.”

 

“He seemed like a nice man,” Papi said. “Is he married? I didn’t see a ring.”

 

“I don’t think that’s really on my mind right now, Papi.”

 

“Yeah, papi, her previous husband only just cooled,” Isabelle mumbled through her ice cream.

 

“Isabelle!” her Mami scolded.

 

“Well, it’s true.”

 

“I will let you know if there’s anything there,” Jacqueline said, too patient, “but I don’t know that you have to worry about anything.”

 

When the dinner was finally over, the family went to pack, and Jacqueline made herself a stiff drink while she loaded the dishwasher and put leftovers away. Isabelle and Laurell, done packing first, came down to join her; Laurell stole her drink and added more coke and wouldn’t return in, while Isabelle kept stealing the spoon Jacqueline was dishing up with and getting in her way. Eventually, Isabelle came right out and said, “Go brush your teeth so you don’t say goodbye to us reeking of alcohol, okay? What happened on the beach?”

 

Jacqueline stifled a hiccup and said, “The Beast wanted Mrs. Kimball. I wouldn’t let It have her, so I offered It myself instead.”

 

“What!” Laurell exploded in a whisper. “So you’re--”

 

“No, only if It doesn’t agree that the world is messed up,” Jacqueline said. “So. I have three days! I’m going to go throw up now. I ate too much pie.” The cold air of the gardens helped a little, and she splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth, and while she was still drunk, she felt she could at least say goodbye without completely breaking down.

 

Her Mami cried instead. Laurell almost did, and Isabelle looked miserable. Papi almost made Jacqueline cry when he hugged her and said, “Be safe, baby girl.” But then it was over, and they were on the way back home, and she was left with the Kimballs. Though she knew it was cowardly, she decided she couldn’t deal with them and went back to her little house where she lay on the couch with Dr. Quinn playing on the tv and drank Jack Daniels until she literally couldn’t anymore, and then she passed out on her bed.

 

When she woke up, she was dehydrated and stuffy-headed, her nose dripping all over her numb and swollen face, and the Kimballs had left already. She was grateful. She tiptoed around the inn straightening up from her guests and held her head like it was a cup of water that would tip over if she leaned too far. Alex rang the doorbell and winced at her in commiseration when she opened the door.

 

“Drowning your sorrows?” he said.

 

“You have no idea,” she sniffed. “Come on in. You want some leftovers?”

 

“Sure, whatever you’ve got.”

 

“Ugh, just keep your voice down.”

 

She’d laid out the tupperware and dishes on the island, and she let him go through and pick what he wanted-- a sweet potato, some mac and cheeze, broccoli, mashed potatoes, a couple of rolls-- and heat it up in the microwave as needed. She was still a little unsettled, and had just some saltines and ginger ale.

 

“Did you have a chance to talk with your mother in law?” he asked, once they were seated in the breakfast nook. “Mm. This is really good, Jacqueline. Especially this macaroni. What kind of cheese did you use? I thought you were vegan.”

 

She blew her nose on a napkin. “You’re just being nice to me. There’s no cheese in that macaroni.”

 

“Really? Wow.”

 

“Stop it,” she moaned. “Come on. No, I didn’t have a chance to speak with her, but considering she didn’t say anything about pressing charges and she likely will never, ever come back here, I doubt she’s too interested in getting Graham in trouble. I don’t care. It probably won’t matter, anyway. I have until Sunday. Sunday night? Whenever the fucking Beast returns and decides to rip my head off or torture me for all eternity, amen.”

 

“About that,” Graham said. “I thought we could use this time to research.”

 

“The library’s closed till Monday.”

 

Graham reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, throwing them on the table while he drank his ice water. “Perk of being the sheriff,” he said. “I have keys for the municipal buildings. If you’re not feeling too poorly, we can go after we eat.”

 

Jacqueline rested her head on the table. “Do you think if I begged really nicely that Dr. York would give me a banana bag or something?”

 

“You that sick?”

 

“I am so close to calling the Beast back and telling It that It can just put me out of my misery.”

 

He patted her on the head. “We’ll stop by the hospital on the way to the library. I think he’s on shift today.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dr. York wouldn’t give her a banana bag-- “You’ll be fine, just keep hydrated, he said -- but he gave her some anti-nausea medication and a shot of B-vitamins (in her butt, she had to show him her _butt_ , good thing he was already taken and she felt so awful, because otherwise she might be offended) and sent her on her way. Luckily Alex drove, but he refrained from putting the lights and siren on thanks to her headache.

 

The library was of course deserted, and it was cold. They went in and turned on all the lights before heading down to the basement. It was dry and a lot warmer down there-- weather-proofing and climate control for the historical documents. When she opened the door to the Vault-- the clean room where they kept the fragile manuscripts-- the scent of decaying paper rolled out like a welcome friend. She loved that scent.

 

“What should we look for?” Alex asked, rubbing his hands together.

 

“Anything,” Jacqueline said. “Anything that would help us. If the Beast returns and decides to try to take it out of my hide, I don’t want to go without a fight. Something to repel It, or force it to leave us be. I told you about Isabelle’s Rumpelstiltskin idea, right?”

 

“Yeah, I thought that was really smart. Most beings like that, if It’s a bean sidhe of either persuasion, It would keep Its true name a secret. I don’t think the Beast would make it easy for us, but it’s a good thought.”

 

“Less talk, more research,” Jacqueline said, shoving a pad of paper and the jar of pens across the metal worktable towards him.

 

* * *

 

 

The originals were delicate, but not as delicate as she first was lead to believe. They wore light linen gloves out of respect for the libraries’ policies, but she’d handled incunabulum before with less fuss, and secretly believed that they were going a bit overboard. Or maybe not; these were the only documents they had on a barbaric city practice, and she supposed it made sense to take extra caution.

 

The journals made for, as she’d seen before, archaic reading. She set Graham on skimming the documents she’d already looked at, and read Captain Gilbert’s personal journals, ones that were considered extremely private. He spoke about his first contacts with the savages, as he called the Abenakis tribe that lived in the area before he and his men arrived, and how they’d been exceedingly worried for the party and how they’d tried to warn them off. It was superstitious nonsense, he declared, and they’d scared the tribes off with gunshots and refused to treat with them.

 

The decent and realization, though terrible, was still interesting. Captain Gilbert reached for any and all excuses to write off the disappearances, even the more arcane ones. Apparently the Beast had been less subtle then, probably an effect of having no human servants like the Mills’ siblings to reign it in, and left a huge swatch of destruction where it chose. Trees were ripped out of the ground, houses utterly destroyed, snowstorms in the heat of June that frozen whole families where they worked in the fields, crops of fruit that were sliced open to reveal nasty grey maggots that spit acid-- all these and more from the Beast rampaging unchecked, in complete fury over the interlopers.

 

It wasn’t until the dead of winter, when the party had been more than decimated, that Captain Gilbert started to become a little more open to alternative options, though he tried to pray the terror away, like any good God-fearing man. When that failed, he sent an apology and messenger to the Abenakis chief, and the chief agreed to meet with him-- off those tainted lands, of course. That meeting was “strange and illuminating, revealing more wonders and devils than anything in Christendom, and I pray to God to spare me for my folly and arrogance,” he wrote. The chief told them of their tribe’s history with the Beast, which they called the Psgata Awaas, or the Dark Wild Beast, and which the esteemed Captain renamed to make it easier to pronounce. He said that the only way to avoid the Beast was to avoid those lands, which his many-times-great-grandmother had bound to those lands and those lands alone, so it wouldn’t stalk them in the dead of night.

 

The captain thought that was nonsense and at first thought he might convert the Beast; Jacqueline could hardly believe the man’s obstinacy. When the local priest went missing and the church was desecrated with animal feces, he finally went walking late one night on the beach and had a vision-- not a dream as she originally had read. And it probably wasn’t even a vision, as her own experience on beach may have proved; he’d probably actually met the Beast, but wrote it off as some sort of vision brought on by exhaustion. He asked the Beast what would keep it from randomly taking people, and the Beast wanted them to give up things willingly; Captain Gilbert agreed, and the destruction stopped soon after. When new families started to move into the area, he had to warn them, and most of them laughed; but they stopped laughing when, two months in, they found someone missing from their beds.

 

Then the Seal-Men came, and Captain Gilbert could no longer write it off as a fiction, not when there were things from myth and legend crawling out of the ocean. He negotiated with them, and accepted the twins to raise as his own, servants of the Beast forever more.

 

Jacqueline eyes were so dry and ached. She popped her back, tight from leaning over the table. Alex was fighting sleep over his notepad; it was very late.

 

“Find anything?” Jacqueline asked.

 

“Not really,” he said. “Most of this is propaganda shit. You?”

 

“The Abenakis tribes called It something-- Psgata Awaas, which apparently means Dark Wild Beast, but I don’t think that helps much.

 

Alex sat back with a discontented sigh. “I’m sorry, Jacqueline. We tried.”

 

“Can I come back tomorrow?” she asked. “I think there might be a few more things I missed. I want to try again.”

 

“You’re welcome to,” he said. “I have a shift tomorrow, but I can come let you in in the morning, if you want.”

 

“Thanks. Sorry I didn’t drive myself; I hate to make you go all the way back to the inn just for me. I didn’t think.”

 

“You were seriously ill. I’d rather drive you than have you crash into a snow bank because you had to hurl into a plastic bag.” He stood up and slid back into his coat; Jacqueline did the same. “I don’t mind at all.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“And hey, you might be returning me to the sea, so I can’t complain too much. A few car rides is nothing.”

 

* * *

 

 

Saturday morning he left her in the library just before eight, the light still grey and fuzzy, threatening a snow-storm. She read all day until he returned to close up, and she’d found nothing.

 

“When do you think the Beast will come to find me?” she asked quaveringly as they walked out.

 

“He said at the new moon, but I don’t know if that means in the evening, or at moonrise-- or really, the non-moonrise? I’m not sure how that works.” He frowned to himself, locking the back door behind him while Jacqueline slid her mittens on. He hesitated before asking, “Would you like to stay with me tonight? Or for me to stay with you? Just in case?”

 

Jacqueline scuffed her boot in the icy gravel. “...please,” she mumbled. “I’d appreciate it.”

 

He took her back to his place, a sprawling one-story house just on the edge of the old town, modern yet comfortable, a lot more stylish than she would have thought. “This land’s been in the family for-- well, since the beginning, really,” he explained, pulling into the garage on the left side of the house. “It used to be the town green; Lara got the original Gilbert house, but I wanted to be out of the bustle of the town. She distracts herself one way, and I do it another.”

 

He showed her into the guest room, and she washed her face and was asleep in ten minutes, despite her unease.

 

* * *

 

 

In her dream she stood in the dining nook of the Hyacinth House’s kitchen, arranging flowers in a vase. The doors were open to a garden, and it was warm and peaceful. As she turned to reach for her scissors to remove a stray leaf, dark clouds rolled in, covering the sunshine, and then the Beast came.

 

“I HAVE RETURNED,” It said.

 

Since it was a dream, she smiled and said, “How was your trip?”

 

“THE WORLD IS MUCH CHANGED. IT IS DIRTY AND TORN AND CHAOTIC, AND FILLED WITH MORE SUFFERING THAN I WOULD HAVE IMAGINED. I DO NOT WISH TO GIVE UP MY HUNTING GROUNDS, AND YET... I WILL AGREE TO YOUR DEAL, BUT THIS NEW CONTRACT WILL REMAIN ONLY WITH THE CURRENT GENERATIONS; IN THREE GENERATIONS I WILL RETURN, IF THE WORLD DOES NOT MEET MY STANDARDS. DO WE HAVE AN ACCORD?”

 

It wasn’t perfect. Jacqueline wanted to end this once and for all. “How did the Abenakis bind you to this land?”

 

It roared in anger. “YOU DARE?”

 

“I don’t think it’s fair for me to bargain for future generations. I want this finished. I say you don’t get to return. However,” she said, seeing the Shadow gather Itself up in rage, “I don’t speak for any other towns. If you can convince them-- without mindless killing-- then you can establish new hunting grounds. Is that a deal?”

 

The Beast shifted in and around Itself, as though thinking. Eventually it said, “YOU ARE A GOOD BARGAINER. WE HAVE AN ACCORD.”

 

* * *

 

 

Nothing was changed-- and yet everything was changed. Graham got out of jail, no one the wiser. Lara abdicated her position as mayor, and no one knew where she’d gone. Despite all his talk, Alex actually stuck around, preferring to finish out his term as sheriff before returning to the sea for good.

 

“I’m in no hurry,” he told Jacqueline one day. “My family gave us up, and now I have the sea again; for now, it’s enough for me to swim and be free in my true skin-- for now. I’m up for reelection in a few years, and I might change my mind by then; but for now? I might as well stay here.”

 

The prosperity of the town didn’t disappear overnight; more mundane terrors like economic depression and concerns about industry taking over homemade goods only slowly took over, slowly enough that people only noticed when their laziness became an issue, and more and more outsiders began to move to the town, only to remain whole and, if not happy, at least untroubled and unguilty. No one suspected Jacqueline, however, and Graham didn’t deign to tell anyone, and of course Alex kept his mouth shut, and Jonathan found other things to talk about if anyone mentioned it to him.

 

The inn continued to do well, though she had to find another caterer, since she couldn’t bring herself to face Graham again, and he eventually stopped calling and trying to apologize. She wrote that essay on superstitions of the early Americans, and found a job with the Library of Congress. She asked Maureen, who ended up deciding to stay in the town once the threat of the Beast had passed, to become her co-partner in the Hyacinth House, and she was able to keep both jobs, traveling back and forth between Washington and Maine every two weeks. She couldn’t just abandon her promises, but she wanted to take more time for herself, and having Maureen help her out was a nice compromise. Alex ended up staying on, elected to the role of the mayor, and with his love for the sea assuaged, she had an idea that he might make an excellent friend into old age, whether or not he actually married her, and the best part was that she would never have to meet her in-laws on his side of the family, because he still hadn’t forgiven them.

 

Well, that was okay; she still hadn’t forgiven her old in-laws either; but at least he wouldn’t expect anything more from her, and she wouldn’t have to worry that he was missing anything from her. That suited her just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand there you have it. Nano 2015. I'm not sure about the ending. But congratulations, you made it!


End file.
